


The Meaning of Resistance

by Ashbear



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, F/M, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Romance, Where I Belong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 121,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashbear/pseuds/Ashbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe. When the world forgets you've ever existed, the memories they shared under the stars will remain. After an agent’s death, Rinoa becomes a key witness in the trial and placed into protective custody. Squall is the FBI agent assigned to her case, Seifer is the local detective, and Rinoa is the one who finds herself giving up everything. When the trial ends, so begins the new life they've assigned to her. (Added fanart/graphics)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And So it Breaks...

**Author's Note:**

> **Foreword:** Well, I always wanted to try something a little different, so I'm trying my first AU. I'll explain a little more at the end, but wanted to get into a little bit of the story details. For this, I've used some of the US agencies, such as the FBI and DEA (for reference - FBI is Federal Bureau of Investigations and DEA is the Drug Enforcement Agency) I was thinking of trying to create my own, but knew this was my best choice in the long run. Also, please understand that this is 'loosely based' on the responsibilities of each agency. I'd also like to thank Carie Valentine and Emerald Latias for their beta work and for coming up with the title – it's a phrase from the song "Stars."
> 
> Hopefully, this won't go too badly; I think it will take me a few chapters to become comfortable, but bear with me. For me, the concept is different not only because it's an AU, but because it's a completely entirely focus. Again, as with all my writing, you may throw tomatoes, although someone can throw a little lettuce? At least, I can make a salad out of it. ;)

Somehow, the days started to blend together; it was one horrific scene after another, melding into a seemingly gruesome pattern. The crimes rarely changed, only the backdrop surrounding them did and, as cruel as it sounded, the victims became as faceless. Yet, in all honesty, it was the suspects that lost their identity first – each seemingly pulled from a pool of indifference. There would always be those that stood out, but the best thing to do was not to let them.

It's not the best advice, it's the _only_ advice.

His job was like seeing the same movie, watching re-runs of a television show or, in some cases, reading a murder mystery over again. If only life was that simple - to have all the pieces fall into place over the duration of sixty minutes; to have a conviction by the end of film, or to have the ability to flip to the last page of a book so you'd know the ending.

Life is an endless story; a cycle of violence destined to replay daily.

* * *

_ 1:40 pm, October 10th _

Yellow tape, police cars and, more often than not, the local coroner were all regulars at the scene - realities that he had grown accustom to over the last four years. He had been in the field his entire career and each time he approached a new scene, very few variables changed. In the end, the only things that names, dates, and body counts produced were statistics… and a barrage of paperwork.

Nobody blinked an eye as the nondescript, light-colored sedan pulled into the parking lot; even the car he drove had become mundane. Then again, the Galbadian government had never been known for diversity. He was immediately waved off by some uniformed officer for entering an obviously blocked off area. He knew this was where the fun was going to begin; local authorities despised working concurrently with any federal agency. It honestly didn't matter to him as they were the ones who looked foolish doing the needless posturing. To him, it was never about territorial lines, interoffice politics, or hurt feelings; it was simply about the crime – the facts, the evidence.

He didn't acknowledge their petty grievances; they were _theirs_ – not his.

And quite frankly, this officer looked like a piece of work. Probably fresh out of the academy or on someone's shitlist - negated to being a glorified stop sign. Gut instinct said 'shitlist' as the guy seemed to be his age, if not had a few years on him. Hitting the driver's side door in anger, the officer motioned for the sole occupant to roll down the car window. It didn't faze the agent; he was used to dealing with self-important stop signs.

"Can't read? Road's closed."

He took a deep breath biting back wanting to point out that it was Officer Stop Sign that couldn't read, the front government plates were a dead giveaway.

By now he'd reached into his suit pocket retrieving a small leather-bound case. With a single motion of his wrist, he flipped the holder open, showing off his credentials. Of course the uniformed man wasn't impressed.

"Great," the officer mumbled though the open window. "I think we can handle it ourselves. Who the hell called the Feds in?"

"Special Agent Squall Leonhart," he stated never turning to face the officer. Keeping his eyes focused on the crime scene before him, he studied the wooden barriers impeding his entrance.

"Aren't all agents in the FBI referred to as 'Special Agent?' Doesn't seem that special to me."

With that comment, Squall turned to look at the man directly. Somehow he could already sense the amount of resistance he was going to have on this case. He was far from pleased. Not to mention it was the _same damn comment_ each and every time. Squall would think as the years passed, he'd find a variety putdowns somewhere along the line. He had started to wonder if that _oh-so-creative_ jab was printed in the police rookie handbook – and then assigned to every uniformed officer everywhere. Just for once he wondered if things could be different, the scene, the putdowns, the people, the continual harassment for doing his job but, just like the violence, the cycle would never break.

He was here for only one reason and getting verbally belittled by a stop sign wasn't it.

"I'm here because one of your supervisors believed it would best to pool our resources. If you feel like filing a complaint, I would suggest you start with your own department."

He could tell local man was holding his tongue as he shook his head. Without further comment, the officer signaled for two other uniforms to move the blockade. For a brief moment, Squall thought that maybe this guy had graduated all the way up to yield-sign status - that was until he heard _"Special Agent my ass"_ as the window rolled up. It was in his best interest just to let the hostile man's comment rest. Squall Leonhart wasn't the type to lose his composure over trivial matters, or even major ones. It was his calm, professionalism that had brought him this far up the ranks.

Pulling next to a few unmarked cars, Squall turned off the engine before removing the key. He found himself inwardly sighing as he surveyed the scene from his car; first impressions were often very telling. This blast looked especially destructive, considering the type of explosives supposedly used. He removed a pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket and switched them out with the ones he'd been wearing for driving. He reached for a file that had been sitting on the passenger's seat, but there was literally nothing in it. On this case, things had come down the pipe a little differently, but he was told he'd be receiving further information at the scene. Still, with his notebook in hand, he certainly wasn't going to let the local police know what he knew - nothing. Right now, at this stage of the game, this was about what _they_ knew.

As he opened the car door, he could see two dark body bags lying on the ground that had blocked from view before. He was actually surprised that there were only two fatalities as it looked far more destructive, although he knew nothing about an injury report.

As he his foot hit the pavement, he was immediately hit with the mixture of the newly snuffed out blaze and what he believed was some sort of meat - hamburger or steak. The latter hadn't been a surprise as it was just after lunchtime. No matter how long people gawked, they still found a way to get their entire lunch hour – the aforementioned 'gawking' usually tended to be at their employer's expense.

That was another thing that had blended over the years, the onlookers. He couldn't even begin to differentiate one crowd from the other. However, it was those similarities that made the differences stand out. It was easier to scan for what was out-of-place - when things tended to be so commonly-perfect and in place.

Most of the bystanders outside wore similar style clothing, long sleeves or windbreakers. For first week in October, it was relatively warm, especially since this autumn had already had its share of near-freezing days. And for all intents and purposes, his first scans said everything here, as far as the crowd went, was normal. Unfortunately, 'normal' was a word he'd call most of disasters the rest of the world considered anything but.

He hadn't been out of the car thirty seconds when he saw a figure rapidly approaching. From here, he could see the person walking towards him was taller blond man wearing beige pants and a white oxford. Squall could tell this person was more than likely in charge, or at least, this man believed he was... Reality and perception were two different entities, which reality this guy fell into remained to be seen.

The man extended his hand in greeting, "Detective Seifer Almasy – Timber Drug Control Unit."

Squall dismissed the gesture with a nod of his head as he looked at the portion blown-out building. Though it was a welcome change of pace that this man wasn't immediately berating his help, there was an arrogance and cockiness that he could sense in the detective. Of course, Detective Almasy could say of the same of him. He'd be wrong, but it could be said.

"I was under the impression that this was a bombing. Why is narcotics involved?"

"Long story," Seifer grinned forgoing the details momentarily. "Short version – the reason why you were called in - one of the dead was an undercover fed with drug enforcement."

Interoffice politics was bad, but this was possibly the worst scenario imaginable… this was between _three_ governing agencies. It was official; Squall was now caught in the seventh level of bureaucratic hell.

"Is there a representative from the DEA here yet?" Squall asked expecting the worst.

"No, you're the first Fed to show. Are you from the Timber Field office?"

"No." Squall stated simply, he didn't feel that his life story had to be told at this moment, or any moment here after. "How do you know the deceased was an agent?"

"I bet you're a barrel of fun at the office parties," Seifer smirked. Squall stood silent only folding his arms and ignoring the blond man's comment.

"Fine, fine... according to our witness he was, and we were _unofficially-officially_ able to verify the information."

Squall felt a migraine coming on. "Was the witness also working for the DEA?"

"No, not that we know of... but she was there at the time of the explosion. Escaped with minor cuts and bruises, she's the lucky one."

"Just the one injury?"

"Yes, all and all we're pretty lucky. I'd say we're looking at a professional-"

Squall wasn't interested in opinions when a valuable source was being wasted. "How did she know the agent's identity?"

"She's... not saying." Seifer looked down scratching the back of his neck. "She's just a little shaken up. I just wanted to give her a few moments before the barrage of questions."

"This is the most crucial time in the investigation, letting her rest a moment doesn't seem like the wisest of moves."

"Maybe not the wisest, but it was my call," Seifer explained becoming more defensive of his decision. The last thing he needed was some stiff in a designer suit telling him how to run his investigation. "I didn't get your name, _Fed-boy_."

"I didn't give it," Squall calmly stated.

He wasn't in the mood for this either; it was all because he had the misfortune of being in Timber for the world's worst training seminar and wasn't thrilled when he received the call. This is why the bureau had satellite offices, to handle such things. Right now he should have been boarding a train back to Deling City but instead he was going to be spending, most likely, a few more meals over here.

The two men stared at one another before the federal agent finally spoke up. "Squall Leonhart," he replied.

"Wonderful Leonhart, now that we have the _formalities_ out of the way, would you like to speak to the witness? As you already pointed out, this _is_ the most crucial time." Seifer didn't wait for the man's answer as he turned, walking toward a nearby ambulance. The sirens and lights weren't on, but several paramedics were standing near the rear doors.

Squall followed behind wordlessly, which was all right by him. He could learn more by watching the actions of others than he could during most conversations. People had a way of betraying their emotions with body language, even those who had dishonesty down to a science... And that's exactly what it was, a science that he had studied many years to try to comprehend.

As he rounded the open rear doors of the ambulance, he could make out a figure covered by a dark grey blanket. It was standard issue for these situations, not that it was honestly that cold, but wrapping yourself within it was supposed to provide a basic comfort. Her head was down and dark hair fell over her shoulders onto the blanket. She was sitting with her knees to her chest in the back, as a paramedic was taking off a blood pressure cuff. He had to work around the blanket, but he seemed competent enough to do so.

Detective Almasy walked in front of the woman crouching down to her level. Again, Squall noted the 'comforting' behavior - attempting to look at her eye-to-eye and not tower over her as an authority figure. Sometimes the old adage was true, that you can catch more flies with honey. That is unless you were dealing with a bee in disguise. He trusted no one, believing nobody above suspicion.

"Can I get you some water, coffee, anything?" Seifer asked the woman trying to ease her mind.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," she softly rasped, her voice almost cracking at the words.

Squall could partially see her when she looked up towards the detective; she appeared younger than he originally had thought. He could even see her try to a force a smile as she spoke. It wasn't working as her shaking hands figuratively screamed her emotional state.

"Miss Heartilly, there is someone here with FBI. He would like to ask you a few questions if you're feeling up to it." She nodded slowly in reply, returning her eyes down to the pavement. Squall could see she had been crying, the tears mixing with dirt streaking down her face. He also noted several abrasions covered the visible parts of her body, some worse than others, a few already covered with gauze.

Squall nodded to both the paramedics and Detective Almasy to give them some privacy - at least that was his unspoken intention. The officer seemed to ignore the agent's silent request. For some reason, Seifer seemed to be protective of this girl and Squall found that fact to be somewhat interesting. Maybe the blond man was more territorial than he had first believed. Squall didn't believe it was about the girl, specifically, but about the feeling of superiority. That was fine with him; he found the officer's actions more telling than anything.

"I'm Special Agent Leonhart with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions."

When she finally looked up at him, he was able to study her face – it seemed that all her wounds there were superficial. For a moment, she seemed to stare blankly at him. Squall found it slightly disturbing, but decided it could be a residual side effect from surviving the blast. It also appeared as if she had already been battling turmoil within herself. Then, all of a sudden, she tensed up. It was cliché description, but it fit – she was like a deer in headlights. Then just as quickly she turned her head away from both men.

"I-I can't… I'm sorry." It seemed very difficult for her to even say those words as she avoided eye contact with either of them.

"Understand, this isn't a choice," Squall stated firmly.

He tried to grant her some leeway, but there was something she was holding back. He didn't have time to play the games. This wasn't a round of 'twenty questions' where he'd keep guessing until he just so happened to stumble on the right answer and Seifer could stand there being the team cheerleader. Every second that ticked by was valuable time. If the girl truly was innocent, she should understand the severity of the situation.

"You don't understand... I really _can't_ ," she replied with a little more intonation in her voice.

"You seem to be the one not understanding." This time, he was extremely serious. Again, he didn't have time for this shit. This is why he didn't do initial witness interviews – he'd only 'lucked out' this time. Even still, he had this strange feeling that her lack of willingness went back to the presence of Detective Almasy. This wasn't 'good cop - bad cop,' it was about getting the facts efficiently and accurately.

Suddenly, Squall's line of sight was blocked as the other man moved, obstructing his view. "Can I speak with you a moment."

"I'm in the middle of something right now."

"Thank you for stating that _Agent Obvious_. I just need a few moments of your precious time." Seifer reached over grabbing the arm of the other man, much to his dismay. Vehemently, Squall brushed off the contact and twisted away.

"Don't touch me," the agent warned with more emotion than he had showed since his arrival.

"Sensitive aren't we?" quipped Seifer as he led them around to the front of the vehicle.

"You do understand that I was assigned for a reason and not a satellite agent?"

"I don't care how wonderful you think you are. All I know is _what_ you're being right now..." Seifer commented backhandedly. "And I know if you want any information from her, you'll have to show some sensitivity, even if you have to swallow your pride and fake it. She just watched two people die – one blown to bloody bits... She isn't like us. This is all overwhelming to her. And you coming in acting like she's the one on trial… _that_ isn't going to ease her mind right now."

"We don't know if she isn't on trial. She did manage to survive a fatal blast with only a few bruises."

Seifer raised his hands in mock surrender. "So much for innocent until proven guilty. Remind me not to have you on my side if I need any help."

Squall took a deep, cleansing breath. He honestly didn't want to get into some verbal argument with this guy, although that seemed inevitable. "If you want the case handled right, then you better hope that I'm on your side, not against you. I'm sorry if my presence is disturbing your flirting with the suspect-"

" _Witness!_ She is a witness!" Seifer defended.

Squall ignored the interruption, "But, right now, I have a job to do and I will do it to the best of my ability. Coddling some girl just because she has a pretty face isn't how this works."

With that, Seifer smirked even bigger and with a hoarse laugh replied, "Thought so."

Squall didn't give a damn what this man 'thought.' To continue this line of questioning would be playing into his game, giving the local officer the upper hand, at least mentally. "Listen Almasy, I want to question the _witness_ without distraction. I will promise to act in a professional and courteous manner, if you promise that we can work civilly together. This isn't about our issues, it's about the facts."

"Fine," Seifer reluctantly agreed.

As much as he had a natural distain for this 'Agent Leonhart', he sensed that he was good at what he did. He also sensed he was a walking asshole carrying a badge and wearing an overpriced suit and sunglasses – but that opinion was neither here nor there. Seifer may not be some federal agent, but he'd worked his way up the ranks up through Timber PD. He also had a hunch and over the years he found his gut an extremely valuable asset – if his colleagues weren't poisoning him with bad fish. Some of Seifer's methods were questionable; in fact, he'd built a paper fort out of his disciplinary actions to irritate his sergeant. Still, having someone who played by the rules might be the balance he needed… either that or his paper fort may be getting ready for expansion.

Squall started to head back, but Seifer wanted to make one important comment.

" _Fed-boy_ , her name is Heartilly, Rinoa Heartilly... not the _witness_ and certainly not the _suspect_."

" _We'll see,"_ Squall added mentally, but found for the better part of cooperation to keep that comment to himself.

He had no idea what he'd end up calling her when this is over - not that it would matter. She was part of endless cycle and, in a few weeks, she'd be just another name in a closed file.


	2. From the Ashes...

_ 1:58 pm, October 10th _

To his surprise, Squall found that Seifer wasn't following him. He didn't look back, thinking if he did the officer would take it as some invitation to join – _it wasn't._ By the time he reached the back of the ambulance, he could see that Detective Almasy was heading over to a middle-aged woman wearing a jacket from the coroner's office. Hopefully, that would keep him occupied. As it was, it was best to do this alone, interviewing witnesses wasn't something Squall preferred to do. In all honestly, it had been years – however speaking to suspects was something he did quite regularly.

That process often ended very badly… _for them._

Of course, that just added to the mystery of why he was here and not someone better prepared. Those answers would come later, the ones he needed now were the ones he'd hopefully get out of the suspect… witness.

_Whichever._

She hadn't moved, which wasn't saying much. Her head was down as she still seemed to be staring absentmindedly at the pavement. Whatever her fascination was with the surface of the parking lot was - it was lost on him, although he had to admit it was better than the alternatives. One direction was the rubble left from the explosion; the other was the coroner tagging the plastic body bags. …And everywhere in between countless police, fire, ambulance, and rescue vehicles…

Given the options, maybe he could see the lure of the pavement.

"Miss Heartilly," he began, doing his best for it not to sound forced, though he still didn't see a reason to baby the witness. "I know what you just went through was horrific, but there are a lot of questions that need answers. Right now, you are the best chance we have at finding the party responsible."

"I know. It's just that... I... I... Oh God," she began hesitantly before finally breaking into a sob. He watched the tears form in her eyes as she tried in vain to push them away. He attempts only smeared the dirt on her face more, even when she tried to dry them with the corner of the blanket. He continued to study her – there was a trail, of what he assumed was ash from her forehead to her cheek. The way it appeared, he had to wonder if she had just wiped the soot already in her hair, or if she had been more injured than he first believed.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he stared at her, wondering if this was an act to gain sympathy from the first responders as playing the victim seemed to be something she could pull off. He also wondered if she understood the difference between not _wanting_ to talk and _refusing_ to talk.

Still, Squall knew he needed to explain that the government held jurisdiction and this was a federal crime scene, by default, she was a federal witness. Still, throwing her into a jail cell on a material witness charge seemed drastic, even for him.

Finally, he moved in and purposely took the spot beside to her. He wanted to see if she'd become at all nervous proximity, although if all this was an act, he sincerely doubted his presence would faze her. Leaning on the rear step of the ambulance, he stood menacingly - arms crossed, gazing across the parking lot. He watched as the uniform officers held back the throngs of bystanders and overzealous media. Even though he was 'looking' at the scene, his main goal was to gauge her reaction and the dark glasses allowed some anonymity.

With his peripheral vision, he watched silently as she finally moved - looking from the pavement back towards the still smoldering wreckage. They shared that moment of peace – her taking in the devastation, him trying to figure her out. He wondered if she would finally break her self-imposed silence or if this was all by design. Something about her demeanor told him she wasn't the type to keep quiet no matter how badly she wanted to. Even the way she held the blanket securely around her showed that she needed to find comfort.

"…There was so much blood." Her words were weak and obviously out of context. She continued to watch as the firefighters worked on containing the scene.

"If I hadn't... hadn't..." she whispered.

Honestly, Squall was caught somewhere between suspicion and wondering if medical needed to be called back to reexamine her. Still, if she was capable of forming rational thoughts, he needed to try.

"…Hadn't what?"

"Stayed back… Angelo," she finally managed. "It should've... me… should've been me on the sidewalk."

"Angelo, was he the agent?"

She sniffed, shaking her head back-and-forth indicating 'no.'

"Angelo was-" He never got to finish as she quickly found her voice, cutting him off.

"No. Dog, my dog. She's… my dog."

"What?" That statement threw him off completely. There were only two dogs at the crime scene, and both belonged to the Timber PD – at least from his observation.

Rinoa moved her hand from under the blanket, pointing toward a black and white squad car. "My dog... she's in the back there."

Squall looked over and could see the tips of two ears from a nearby patrol vehicle. The dog had not been noticeable before, it seemed to be lying down without much ado. For a moment, he found himself looking back at the young woman next to him, although she remained focused on the dog.

"Is she okay?" Even as the question left his mouth, Squall was horrified that he'd asked. There were two people dead and a bomber on the loose, but it wasn't about what he felt comfortable with - rather it was getting her to open up and maybe the dog's health would be that key.

"…Yes." Turning back, even she appeared skeptical, but didn't let it stop her. "Angelo will be fine. They gave her a sedative or something like that to calm her down. Detective Almasy said there was a vet or something on the way. I don't really know anymore... I'm just so… confused."

He nodded unsure how to respond to any of that. On a positive, he found that opening, seizing the opportunity to gain information. "You 'stayed back' for your dog?"

The woman let out a small laugh. It was a slightly off reaction, but something that could be explained as an accumulation of nervousness and fear. "I was walking with them… And then she… she just… stopped. I mean she was on a leash... I tried, but she wouldn't. I told them I'd catch up… Oh God, I never did. I couldn't... and then... it... was so loud... so bright and-"

He cringed as it became illegible… her words silently fading into tears. This is why he preferred going after suspects - they were too busy wanting to beat his ass, or flat out kill him to cry. Thankfully, those interviews never ended in an onslaught of tears... Well, _sometimes_ they did, but there was a smug satisfaction to that.

Unsure how to respond, he turned and stared at her for a second, hoping again that her actions would speak to him… and they did – loud and clear. It happened so fast that he didn't have time to react as this stranger forcefully leaned against his chest, wrapping both arms around him. Although she was sitting and he was standing, it left them around the same level – give or take – because of the ambulance's height.

The fact that she'd caught him so off guard was _extremely_ unsettling. It was something that had never happened during his entire career, or actually, during his entire life. _Ever_. He'd never let his guard down for even a second but, somehow, today it happened. He'd have to reevaluate that slip-up later, because right now he had a bigger problem. He wasn't one for comforting people, and to have her holding him was unprofessional at best… unexpectedly distracting at worst. However, he was right about one thing as his earlier assessments were still proving correct… she was the type that needed physical comfort from others, a concept that he'd never understand.

…Although, right now, his slight victory didn't really feel like a victory in the least – all this currently proved was that he was uncomfortable as hell.

"Blood there was so much blood," she cried into his chest. "Everywhere... it's still on me. I can feel it - it's just everywhere..."

For a brief second, he wished that Detective Almasy was there, at least then she could be crying into his chest; he seemed the type that would be rather comfortable in this position. Instead, for some ungodly reason, she'd chosen to lean on him. Squall finally lifted his right arm and patted her back twice, hoping that would be enough comfort to satisfy her inexplicable need.

She didn't move.

"Earlier, you implied that you couldn't answer questions – couldn't or wouldn't?" he asked rather softly. The only thing that kept him from prying her off was the hope that she may be more prone to speaking from this position – at least something positive could come out of this awkward hell.

"He said I wouldn't be safe," she answered simply. "I wish… I wasn't here – it should've been me."

At that moment, it registered in Squall's mind that most 'normal' people would offer up some kind of reassurance, but he wasn't a grief counselor.

"Who is _he_?" Squall asked not sure if she would even respond, but anything was worth a try right now.

"Watts... he was undercover... an agent... I mean... I didn't know... I still don't understand... anything!"

"Listen," he stated firmly, trying to regain control of a situation that he'd allowed to spiral. He moved Rinoa off him, placing her back into a sitting position. Standing from his place against the ambulance, he moved in front of her, removing his glasses. Maybe all she needed is to listen to someone in authority - that had been his intention from the start. "If you are truly sorry for his death, _for their deaths_ , then you need to answer my questions to the best of your ability."

It was the first time he truly looked at her, before all her movements and glances had been buried under stray hairs and a woolen blanket. She'd let go of it as she reached for him and he quickly discovered that it wasn't just for comfort, it hid part of the person beneath. Rinoa Heartilly looked both younger and older than him. He couldn't explain that but, for those seconds, she seemed exposed. Someone lost, but with an underlying hint of determination. It was hard to see behind the tears and blood, but the spark was faint.

Her dark hair was highlighted both by faint blonde streaks and the light of the sun. Mixed in were the clumps of dried blood, knotted with debris, as it had all been pulled back behind her. Her light blue shirt was doused in blood as was her right arm – something else masked by the blanket. He could see a bandage that went around her upper bicep. It looked as if it was haphazardly done or, more likely, that she'd been messing with it. Even as she sat there she favored that arm, but she hadn't mentioned being in any pain.

Again, he was caught off guard, something that was both maddening and distributing all at once. But as he stood there trying to read her, he had this overwhelming feeling that she was doing the same. Quickly, he placed his sunglasses back on as he felt that part of himself had been invaded. Here he had been trying to make her 'feel comfortable' or some stupid shit so she'd answer the questions like she was supposed to in the first place, but no… She dared to use it as an attempt to read him. The last person who did that… Well _,_ they unfortunately read him very, _very_ wrong and the guy swiftly found himself as a practice cadaver for Galbadia's up-and-coming doctors.

This was why he didn't comfort people. They all wanted something.

"All right," Rinoa finally answered. "Just... please get me out of here, I can't talk near... I just... It's just so-"

"Agent Leonhart," a voice yelled out making both Rinoa and Squall turn. Seifer walked around the corner, closely followed by a woman wearing a grey tailored suit. "Sorry to break up your little, um, _party_ , but your cohort in federal bullshit is here."

Squall didn't particular want the witness to overhear and decided it would be best to meet them halfway. Without a word of explanation he left, leaving Rinoa sitting by herself on the back of the ambulance.

The blonde woman looked pleased, smiling as she saw the man standing in front of her. "Squall Leonhart, what brings you out of Deling City? I would say that Timber certainly doesn't seem to be your speed."

"Ooo... what a cozy little reunion we have going on here," Seifer mocked already sensing that Squall wasn't much for socializing. "Do you guys need a few moments alone? Looking at Fed-Boy, I'd say two minutes tops, but I'm probably being _way_ too generous."

The woman laughed it off, knowing the other agent all too well. "No, no, we don't need time at all... Mr. Leonhart and I served in the military together. He chose the bureau and I went DEA. Small world, finding our way back to together, isn't it?"

"How are you doing, Agent Trepe?" Squall replied with the utmost professionalism.

"Please, you know me better than that, call me Quistis."

Seifer laughed pointing a finger at each of the agents chuckling, "Sure you two don't need a two-minutes alone? It can be arranged, makes my job a helluva lot easier. Killing two feds with one stone and all that."

Remaining composed had been the cornerstone of Squall's success and it took a lot to get under his skin, but it appeared the planets were aligning against him. Between missing his train, witnesses who were unaware of social boundaries, police detectives who were also unaware of social boundaries (and general etiquette), and now Quistis Trepe… the last thing he needed was Seifer's juvenile remarks. Then again, the med schools students were always looking for new practice 'volunteers.'

He also made a mental note that next time he asked his superiors about attending a seminar in Timber – _don't._

It was simple advice that would've saved him from this massive headache.

Quistis seemed equally as unimpressed by Seifer's remarks. As she brushed past him, she extended him her own bit of advice. "Do you find the death of a federal agent funny, Detective Almasy? I think it's time we get back to the evidence and stop making this into a singles' bar."

Squall was glad at least someone in this town had common sense, although she was a transplant from Deling City. It wasn't particularly his first choice to work with her but, given his other option, she was a damn godsend. Quistis held out a manila folder that she'd been concealing under her arm, handing it over to the other agent.

"So, you two are passing love notes in class and I don't get one?" Seifer sneered, looking between them. "Yeah, I see how this investigation's going to go… You know, even if I do have a fort at the station, I'm not going to hide in there until there until you two yahoos say this is over. Sorry, this happened in my jurisdiction - we're in this together - so kumbaya and all that."

"Mr. Almasy, I was only informed on my drive over that you'd be serving as our local liaison. I'll immediately get a duplicate set sent over to your… fort."

"Darn right you will." He'd made the comment as if he'd just won some large victory. He hadn't, but right now it was about making his presence known and, trust him, these feds would know it.

Squall's headache had official reached critical mass; the final straw was hearing that Detective Almasy was going to be his permanent liaison. It was official - Hell had changed its name to Timber. Unfortunately, his only option was to accept this fate.

Glancing down at the file he'd taken from his counterpart's hand, he too placed it under his arm, making the choice to read it later. Although Quistis said she'd send a 'copy' over to the detective, there's no doubt it would be an abridged version.

That's why he felt it was best done without other eyes around, especially since the witness mentioned having trust issues. He rarely put stock into those types of accusations, particularly when it involved law enforcement. He found that 99.99% of the time it turned out to be entirely false, but Squall hadn't reached his station by ignoring that 0.01%.

As an old mentor once stated, _"It's better to tread with caution than to sink with regret."_

Speaking about matters of caution, they really needed to remove the witness from the scene. She needed to be properly questioned – preferably with at least a table's width separating them. As far as the crime scene, Squall had the distinct feeling there wasn't much of a story left to tell – the obvious message had already been said. It was a professional hit. Detective Almasy had been correct with that assessment. Right now, the only immediate assets that didn't have long processing times or require technical analysis was the information from the eye-witnesses.

First and foremost - the woman who inexplicably survived because of a 'stubborn dog.' Even Squall had to admit that was new one. Apparently, she'd graduated from 'the dog ate my homework.'

"I need to get the witness to a secure location. I can either take her to the FBI satellite office or down to you precinct," Squall stated rather flatly, finding an intense desire to get moving.

"My precinct," Seifer stated without hesitation. "If you want to prove your fullest cooperation, what better way? Plus, I don't feel like putting Miss Heartilly through another tragedy today by making her stay with you and your kind for any great amount of time."

"We'll meet you back there, Detective Almasy," Quistis added as she signaled Squall to follow her. Seifer mumbled something under his breath that neither of them could quite comprehend, which both found themselves extremely thankful for.

"This ought to be interesting," the woman said, turning back toward Squall. "I'd say that surviving this without Detective Almasy sustaining bodily injury will be an impressive feat."

"Whatever," he replied, getting the car keys from his suit pocket. As far as her comments on the officer, he didn't feel inclined to indulge in idle chit-chat or explore his feelings on any level – up to and including his opinion of Seifer Almasy.

"Same old Squall," she laughed. "I guess there is at least some comfort in the fact that some things never change."

"I could say the same." Unlike with Seifer, his tone was genuine. Fine, maybe he'd do a little chit-chat as a polite gesture. "You've been doing alright?"

"Is that _concern_ I hear out of you?" She laughed with a smile on her face, "I'm flattered." He waved it off with a simple motion of his hand. "Anyway, I've been doing well. It's been different working for the DEA, but I really enjoy it, get to be out in the field a little more."

"Glad to hear," he stated, turning back towards the witness. Quistis followed his lead and looked at the young woman. She'd returned to her earlier position – blanket around her, knees tucked up on the back of the ambulance. "Apparently, she is a civilian, but knew of the agent's identity."

Quistis' smile faded, knowing nothing sat well with that scenario. "He wouldn't have identified himself without a valid reason, or she found out through a secondary source."

"I haven't gotten a chance to question her on that, or anything really. She wants to get away from the crime scene."

"Understandable."

Squall started walking back toward the ambulance and noticed that Rinoa seemed to almost looking beyond them. She didn't speak or acknowledge them as they walked up; instead, her attention had been drawn to the coroner's van as the two bodies were being loaded.

The tall blonde extended her hand toward the young woman, who turned back when she saw the movement. "Hello, I'm Quistis Trepe."

The dark haired woman appeared to reading her too, as Quistis tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Finally, Rinoa accepted the gesture, moving her hand from underneath the blanket. "I'm Rinoa Heartilly. Are you with the FBI too?"

"No, I almost joined, but went another direction – I'm with the Drug Enforcement Agency."

"Oh. So you knew him?" Rinoa added softly, returning her eyes to the van. "I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry."

"I didn't know him personally, but I thank you for the concern." Moving beside the witness, she placed an arm around her shoulder for support. "You know, we all know the dangers that come with the job. I just want you to know that he understood all the possible consequences. He died doing his job and I can tell you there is no nobler death than to die for something you truly believe in."

The young girl nodded, trying to accept the comfort at face value, but it proved difficult.

"Rinoa, what we need from you right now is your help. I know you think you might not know much, but you'd be surprised. We just ask that you help to the best of your ability. None of us want this tragedy to be in vain. We're going to all go back to Detective Almasy's precinct… let's you get away from this place. You'll be much more comfortable there."

"Is Seifer coming back?"

Squall would have rolled his eyes if he had been so inclined. Seemed like the detective's little tap dance with the witness was working perfectly – talk about a damn single's bar.

"You called," a smug voice answered from behind him.

This was going to be a very long, infuriating case, Squall could tell that from the very first run-in with Officer Stop Sign.

"I just wanted to know if you were coming back," she smiled weakly.

He returned the gesture, but with a full-blown grin. "I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I left you alone, now would I?"

With a small bow, he offered Rinoa his hand. She willingly accepted, still keeping the blanket tightly wrapped around her body. "Miss Heartilly, my car is right over this way. I'll personally escort you to the station. It's the least I can do."

"Thank you, Seifer."

The blond man moved around, placing a hand on the small of her back. She didn't say anything else as she followed his lead towards a blue sedan. Squall and Quistis exchanged a quick look, though the female agent couldn't make out the expression behind the sunglasses. Not that his eyes would betray much anyhow, but it was obvious that the two were thinking along the same lines.

Squall also noted that the 'witness' had already called the detective by his first name, _twice_... not that he was keeping track. It was just blaringly obvious.

"Can you believe his audacity? What does that say about her?" Quistis asked with slight malice.

"She's either easily influenced, or plays people well... time will tell."

Rinoa turned around at that second, looking directly back at him. For a moment, Squall wondered if she had heard his comment, but dismissed the thought just as quickly.

"Let's go."


	3. And Then There Were…

_ _

(Cover art by [Emerald-Latias](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/612554/Emerald-Latias))

_ 3:41 pm, October 10th _

As Agent Leonhart walked down the hallway, he quickly felt like the equivalent of a sideshow attraction. This had become a familiar phenomenon over the years. It was uncanny that every uniformed officer within Timber's city limits miraculously found their way to this particular station, to this particular hallway. These men and women, putting aside petty differences, united for a common cause - to let him know just how much he wasn't wanted here.

Again, he knew that was their issue, not his.

Why local police were so threatened by a federal agent was a concept he would never understand. He wasn't there to step on their toes, but that was never the impression they had. This was especially evident as most of the officers alternated between glowering in disgust and curiously staring. In this case "Curiously" was defined like he was a sideshow freak or, for those a little less edgy, like he was the dancing monkey sidekick of an organ grinder. They of course were completely wrong – he wasn't anybody's sidekick.

…But most importantly, he _didn't_ dance.

He never let the malicious looks get to him; in fact, it was the opposite. If the local police were looking at him like _that,_ this usually meant they weren't doing their job. In turn, that meant he'd been successful at his. So he accepted the looks as a badge of honor of some sort. However, a badge that wasn't an honor, was the visitor's tag hanging from his suit pocket. Clip-on badges were the bane of his existence and, in this case, it signified that he wasn't running point.

Of course, he had always worked in tandem with others and while most of the time he couldn't have cared less, today he found himself in the uncharted territory of being annoyed. There was no reason (no _good_ reason) to be at a police station, a sub-station no less, especially when there was an FBI satellite office across town. Ironically, it was located directly beside Timber's main police headquarters - either building would've been less insulting than here. On that note, it was no real shocker that Almasy had been banished to smallest precinct in Timber. It made the job of the powers-that-be that much easier when he only had a finite amount of space to screw up in.

It didn't matter though, for good measure he'd allow Almasy to win a few battles but, when this was over, there was no doubt who'd be the victor in this war. The arrogant detective would meet his own demise and Squall was oddly comforted by that fact.

At least the station wasn't some forgotten hole-in-the wall. It appeared that there had been some recent renovations going on as the pungent smells of paint and sawdust lingered. Surprisingly, it also had some rather state-of-the art equipment, for a small precinct anyway. It wasn't anywhere close to the labs back in Deling, but he'd make it suffice.

Turning the corner, he saw a familiar sight. Even from down the hall, Seifer stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. Cockily leaning against the water cooler, he appeared to be using the administrative staff's afternoon break for his own agenda. His fake laugh filled the otherwise quiet corridors – the sound came off as rather nauseating. For the first time, Squall realized that he hadn't eaten today, besides grabbing a lone banana from the hotel's breakfast buffet. That turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because watching _this_ would've made his lunch make an encore appearance; crime scenes he could handle, but today Squall Leonhart discovered his stomach's threshold.

As he continued towards Seifer, he noticed that the detective had changed his target. All his attention was being given to a female officer. His body language suggested that he was attempting to impress her and she seemed to be playing along with his peacocking. The woman smiled politely before walking away with very noticeable blush to her cheeks. Much to Squall's chagrin, no tasers were involved.

This day was just getting longer and longer…

Against Squall's better judgment, he approached the lone detective. It wasn't a choice - they had wasted enough time with this absurdity. Maybe this entire town was a singles' bar or at least it was in the eyes of Detective Almasy. Somebody needed to step up and take charge; he wasn't going to stand on the sidelines and give into everybody's whims - 'whims' often led to trouble and that was a trap he'd carefully stayed away from. There was a dead agent and an unknown bomber on the loose, not the time to be practicing clichéd pick-up lines.

"She's already in an interrogation room, correct?" Squall asked, reaching for a paper cup from the dispenser. Slowly, he turned the handle, filling his glass half full of water.

"No, I thought Rinoa would be more comfortable in the lounge since it's much less intimidating than a small room with four concrete walls."

Squall held his calm for a moment, letting the cool liquid move down his throat. Did this asshole not realize that they were _trying_ to intimidate her? "That's good. And if that doesn't work, I'll book _Rinoa_ the Presidential suite at Timber's Regent Hotel… maybe order-up a bottle of imported wine. That should make her even _more_ comfortable."

"Didn't think you had it in you Leonhart, sounds like somebody might've just hit puberty. Congrats… Not a bad choice. Personally, I might've gone with Leggy-Blonde Fed, but something tells me you already hit that."

"Apparently, both sarcasm and tact are something they neglected teaching at Timber's police academy."

"Oh, they do teach it, but more importantly, they taught me how to read people - even uptight Feds with a surprisingly-large stick up their ass," Seifer snickered.

"You're not worth it," Squall replied, forcefully tossing his empty cup into the nearby trashcan.

"Squall?"

He heard Quistis' voice from behind – figures she'd find a way to witness that display. She always did have this annoying catlike way of sneaking up on people. It appeared like one of those things that never changed.

"Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he stated harshly, following the woman into a nearby room.

On the outside, her expression was unreadable, but that appearance was definitely only skin-deep. Inside, Quistis was having a field day, laughing at the exchange she'd witnessed. In all her years of knowing Squall Leonhart, she had never seen him like that. The easy answer would have been to blame Detective Almasy; it seemed like there was this inexplicable rivalry brewing between them. In fact, she couldn't recount a time that Squall showed even a fraction of himself. It was ironic, at least from her point of view, because she saw similar aspects in them. It wasn't something visible on the surface, more of a gut feeling at this point, but she was pretty damn perceptive when she needed to be. However, there was one similarity that she would openly go on record with - both men had pride and dedication.

In fact, she'd even say they were prideful to a fault…

Two alpha-males butting horns over jurisdiction…? That scenario would seem very likely if one of those two was Squall Leonhart. She still had a hard time processing how he was acting. The truth of the matter was that he put up with narcissistic assholes all the time while in the military and never once had been baited into that trap. That's why something else was nagging at her; a passing thought that was too ridiculous to even consider. Honestly, maybe she'd inhaled one too many paint fumes - that scenario was actually much more logical.

It had been just about five years since she'd been around Squall, but from their brief meeting, he'd seemed the same…

… _Almos_ t the same.

To say the least, this was going to be an 'interesting' assignment.

* * *

Entering the lounge, Squall saw her sitting alone at a small dining table. True to _Seifer's word_ (a phrase that made him feel physically ill again) the room had been cleared of anyone else. It was supposedly to allow them privacy but, truthfully, he found himself questioning everyone's sanity in this town.

 _This… this_ whole situation was infuriating, but he refused to let Almasy - or Heartilly for that matter - have the upper hand. Still, being in the break room, of all the illogical places, was such a grievous breach of protocol that it made his skin crawl. Honestly, he half-expected Seifer to be on the phone and making reservations, taking his earlier 'suggestion' at face value.

It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to see Detective Suave wanting their witness to feel more comfortable. He also was positive that Almasy wouldn't neglect the most important details of the case - like the bomber, the victims, wine, chocolates, and rose petals… or whatever else was considered romantic these days and, of course, the little tryst - all at the taxpayer's expense.

He'd never been more thankful for his habitual skipping of meals after that thought.

As he entered, he knew that Quistis was following directly behind him. That also brought up another point – it was hard to be intimidating when walking single file into the room akin to what one does in kindergarten. His only consolation in this mess was that Seifer wasn't going to be at this portion of the interrogation. After leaving the water cooler, there was a rather lengthy 'conversation' in regards to situation. Squall was adamant that the detective's presence did more harm than good.

The conversation quickly devolved into the 'irresistible force versus the immovable object' scenario but, against the odds, Quistis brokered impossible. She mediated an agreement to let her and Squall try first. Seifer insisted that she act as Rinoa's representative if Squall decided to go all _Squall_ in the situation. To her credit, even Agent Leonhart found himself impressed with her prowess to pull off the impossible. He believed that she'd missed her calling as a political ambassador.

When he entered, Rinoa smiled weakly, managing only brief eye contact. He was curious, trying to gauge her reaction about her 'boyfriend' having to take a backseat to real law enforcement. Although he couldn't read her thoughts, he did learn a lot, by both her actions and her attire.

His earlier observation about her needing to be comforted held true – in fact, he considered it confirmed. That wasn't by her actions, but by what she was wearing. It wasn't cold in the station, yet she was wearing a Timber PD windbreaker; for all intents and purposes, the way it covered her served as a socially-acceptable security blanket.

Even more importantly, he had made another break-through in what he considered her persona. This witness needed something to keep her distracted. This time, instead of the parking lot pavement, she'd invested her interest with a Styrofoam cup. Likely, she wasn't paying attention to her own actions, but _he was_. He watched as her fingers curled absentmindedly around the cylinder. There was something almost innocent about the way she acted, like a child silently hoping for more juice – as if a reward or some sort of approval was at stake here.

Hell, maybe he really was in a room with five-year-olds, or at least people who shared that mentality.

Fine. Even he knew that it was a too harsh. His frustration had been seeping through and he had to remind himself to approach this objectively. It occurred to him that he'd never had to remind himself of that before.

It didn't matter how sweet or pretty she might have been… or rather how _Seifer_ thought she was. Interrogating was about assessing the witness on the most basic levels. Human beings were fascinating creatures by nature - annoying, bothersome, and countless other adjectives that easily shot to mind and this woman proved no different.

And based on visual clues, he'd label her a follower. Even now, she was silently waiting for someone to give her directions or to make her some sort of promise like it was going to be 'all right.' No wonder why she and Detective Almasy had a love connection, he'd lead, she'd follow… it was a match made in Timber. For that reason, it was easy to see that she possibly could have been manipulated, if approached correctly. However, he did get the impression that she wouldn't purposely hurt someone. That didn't mean she, herself, wasn't misled and, in that sense, she appeared…

Looking at her again he'd sum it up by saying she was quite malleable. _Seifer will be thrilled._

He purposely had chosen not to read her file. He found that making personal observations an extremely gratifying experience, especially when his theories panned out. It was a mental exercise to keep him sharp, a game of chess against oneself. He would speculate that she was seeking approval from _someone_ and since she apparently hung out with males, it would most likely be an older brother or possibly a father.

Physically, she'd freshened up – her face had been washed, although her hair didn't clean so easily. It was still extremely matted from the experience, pulled back with a rubber band. Even wearing the jacket, he could better make out all the dried blood coating her shirt. She had been correct earlier - the dark, crimson stains were everywhere.

Pulling out a chair, Squall tossed the manila folder onto the table, making Rinoa visibly flinch. Calculating in the intimidation factor, he took the chair across from her; it was also the easiest option for studying her reactions. Quistis didn't even contemplate her actions; following through with her earlier promise to Detective Almasy, she sat directly at Rinoa's side. Reaching into her bag, she fished for her micro cassette recorder so they would have complete documentation. Turning it on, she placed the device in the center of the table and, with a nod, signaled Squall to begin.

"Miss Heartilly-"

"Rinoa," she corrected without looking up.

He started over, ignoring the interruption. "Miss Heartilly, first of all, I hope you understand the severity of the situation."

"I do," she whispered more to herself than to him, then adding in an even softer tone, _"More than anyone."_

"Do you really? If a single agent's identity is compromised by an outside source, there's no telling how many other undercover agents are at risk. Are you willing to live with their blood on your hands too?"

"Me?" she responded, looking up at him in confusion.

This time, she matched his gaze, a fact that he found surprising. For a man who was rarely caught off guard, he'd freely admit that her adamancy had – even more so when it was lined with a tinge of anger.

"Miss Heartilly," Quistis interrupted, throwing her own look of shock towards Squall. For a man supposedly in tune with human nature, he really didn't understand it in a practical sense.

"Agent Leonhart didn't mean it like that." Of course, that was a load of bullshit, how else would he mean it?

Hopefully, Rinoa didn't have time to dissect his words too much; Quistis took it upon herself to translate, placing a more positive spin on it. "What my colleague is getting at – is that if one man's identity is compromised, we have to worry about _all_ agents currently assigned undercover in the field. If there is a leak, it's an extremely-dangerous situation for everyone. We're hoping that you can help us save others by retracing some of the events that led up to today."

"Yes. That's exactly what I was saying," Squall shot back. He wondered how well Miss Heartilly could understand sarcasm as it seemed like her 'boyfriend' found the concept a tad difficult.

Rinoa smiled at Quistis, purposely ignoring the man in front of her. "I do understand... I don't want anybody else to get hurt. Ever. I just don't know what kind of help I can be to you guys."

Agent Trepe tried to reassure her, "I bet you know more than you might think... We'll help you and take it slow. Maybe you'll remember something later on."

"Maybe."

Squall decided that while Quistis was adequately handling things, he'd use this time to look at the file. He could still listen as multitasking was something that came naturally for him. He opened the documents and began learning about the woman sitting in front of him. He knew that type of person, he'd run into many of them over the years. And just like that, on the _very first_ line, an otherwise-hazy picture suddenly cleared.

Now he understood _exactly_ why he was sitting on a god-awful folding chair rather than in a first-class train car. He was disgusted, not only with this situation as a whole, but also at her… she was even worse than Seifer and that was no easy accomplishment. People who lied were the worst… but people who lied, while looking him in the face, simply appalled him. It wasn't an issue of his pride because he'd fallen for their words - no, it was about a person's honor. There was no redeemable quality in betraying that.

He was so disgusted with what he perceived as deception, he spoke directly over Quistis.

"Can I ask you to restate your name?"

"…Excuse me?"

"Strange, I thought it seemed like a simple question too. However, if it's slipped your mind, I'd be willing to place you in a holding cell to help jog your memory. _Your name_." She looked at him in confusion once more, but before she could spout some BS story, he'd had enough. "Care to explain why Rinoa Heartilly doesn't exist?"

"Oh, okay that." He could visible see the wave of relief as it washed over her face, definitely an unusual reaction after being caught in a red-handed lie. "Legally, Rinoa Heartilly isn't my name, but I started using my mother's maiden name. The name appearing on my birth certificate would be Rinoa Elizabeth Caraway."

"Miss Caraway, is there a reason you were attempting to deceive the government?" The sharpness in his voice held many implications.

Rinoa couldn't look at him; she'd attempted it briefly, but failed just as quickly. Agent Leonhart had been sitting so rigidly upright that his entire posture had become unnerving. Everything about his demeanor radiated his tenseness. Rinoa didn't know what he wanted from her, maybe her first-born or a kidney? This seriously couldn't be over just her name.

"…Please, don't." The words were so soft, they bordered on coming across as a plea.

It was then she realized that she'd been holding her breath. He had somehow made her so anxious that she couldn't even remember to breathe, but then again, that had been his main objective. Fine, so maybe his goal wasn't to make her pass out by forgetting to inhale and exhale, but it was to intimidate her. Which he had. He was damn good at it too. With a shaky breath, she placed her arms on the table, resting her head on them. It hadn't been intentional, but if Agent Leonhart had been the poster child for perfect posture, then she was one of the other panels that stated "don't do this," crossed out with a red X.

"…I wasn't _trying_ to deceive anybody. I've… I've just gone by the other so long... it's who I am. I wasn't lying I was just…." She put her hands up in defeat. His steely expression said it all. "Fine. I was lying."

Technically, even if she was, somehow Squall came out of it looking like the asshole.

"Agent Leonhart," began Quistis as even she had been taken aback.

It _was_ in the file – Squall could've just as easily read it instead of berate her. Agent Trepe had read it and it clearly stated that Heartilly was her mother's maiden name. Unfortunately, history had taught her that putting two and two together wasn't Agent Leonhart's thing as he wanted no blanks to be left undone. The worst part was he wasn't exactly _wrong_ , but the way he was handling it was far from right.

Squall wasn't going to let Quistis have a say in this conversation. He already knew that she'd be sympathetic to Miss Caraway as her overzealous compassion had always been her downfall. This witness wasn't five years-old and she'd already admitted she was lying, the consequences for that were far more than being put in 'time out' and not getting a refill of juice.

"Is there a reason you changed your name and circumvented legal channels?" He wasn't going to back down, maybe she'd learn to always start with the truth.

"It's kinda personal, but I already... I infor-… Honestly, it has nothing to do with this."

"I'm sure you can, but I can't," he stated rather flippantly, searching through the paperwork, "I've had occasions to work with your father. I wondered why they didn't call in a local agent… why I was called into babysit."

He was irritated that she still hadn't answered, more so now than ever and seeing the name "Caraway" didn't help matters at all. This case could still be handled by someone else. Quistis Trepe was more than capable and Seifer Almasy was… Well, he at least held the qualifications to be a human shield, and any agent at the field office would easily hold the credentials. This was why emotions were bad – she was going to end up in tears again and this whole fiasco would be dragged on for another day. He could've counted down to the inevitable waterworks.

"What the hell's your problem?" she demanded, standing up angrily.

Her action had been so abrupt, the chair skid across the tile floor from. On instinct, Quistis reached for her shoulder holster, hesitating on pulling the gun until she could read the situation. She didn't, but it was a response neither had anticipated.

It stopped Squall dead in his tracks, although he easily masked any surprise. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"Excuse me?" he stated flatly.

"You... your problem? With me, with my name, with everybody! I'm really sorry if me seeing two people die today ruined your big plans for this evening - it sure as hell ruined mine."

"What exactly were your plans tonight, besides consorting with a known drug dealer?"

"Squall!" Quistis joined Rinoa standing up; she'd been horrified at this exchange but had only let it go on thinking that it would naturally subside. Then again, Squall rivaled any force of nature when provoked. If she thought Seifer had gotten to him, she was amazed at what this small woman had done in the course of three hours.

"I'll take the cell," Rinoa announced, causing them both to look her direction. "Agent Leonhart said that if I didn't want to speak, I'd have the option of being locked up – I'm asserting that right."

"Rinoa, no… please." Quistis did her best to mediate, but unfortunately her cohort antagonized the situation.

"You're on a first name basis too? Great."

Emphasizing her point, Rinoa defiantly held out her wrists.

Talking calmly, Quistis tried again. "We're not going to arrest you, you've done nothing wrong."

"She's a material witness refusing to cooperate with an investigation. Don't let her fool you, she may not be responsible, but she's guilty of something." The way he spoke, it came off so cool and even, as if the trial was over and she'd been found guilty. The way he was so casual about it was almost haunting. Without words, he got up, walked to the door, and signaled the first uniformed officer over he saw. Not shockingly, there was a whole garrison roaming the hall to catch a glimpse of the fed from Deling City. This town truly was insane.

"Please escort, Miss _Caraway_ to a cell." In regards to her name, there was a very slight emphasis to his tone.

As she walked by, she made direct eye contact with him again. There were both traces of acceptance and sadness but, to his surprise, she didn't beg or begin spilling her guts; he'd figured that she would end up doing that before her first foot hit the hallway floor. Yet, she held her own, even as the officer placed her in handcuffs as a precaution.

He started to step back into the room, but made one more request. "Keep her away from general population. Something solitary."

"Seriously? _Now_ you're worried about her safety?" Quistis said angrily, gathering her belongings, "God help me, Seifer was right."

"I'm sorry that I'm not living up to your expectations."

"No, that's the thing – _you are_."

With that Quistis walked past him, leaving him alone in the room. That's how he preferred it anyhow. She had often hoped that he'd learn a little about interactions over the last five years, it seemed that her hope had been misplaced. Then again, maybe that's why he'd climbed the ranks much faster than she had, but some things weren't worth the price – human decency being one of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - I had a question about the direction of a scene, so I sent it to Emerald Latias and she found the best-typo-ever. I'm so going to turn this into a joke later on, even worse is that I didn't catch it – I had Squall Leonhard. Oh, yes Seifer will work that jab in there somewhere. *snickers*


	4. Within These Walls...

_ 4:10 pm, October 10th _

Taking a step back inside, Agent Leonhart glanced around the empty break room. Clearing out an area had been a long-standing skill; a fact that both his Garden and college roommates could readily agree to. Unfortunately, this talent also left a string of resentment in its wake and he certainly wasn't winning any popularity contests with his social skills. The part that he doubted many would believe is that he honestly wasn't trying for these results. He didn't go out of his way to be what the consensus deemed 'an ass,' but he didn't go out of the way to avoid the label either.

Just like this for example – there was nothing deliberate about it. He didn't walk into this room earlier with the goal of throwing Miss _Whatever-the-hell-she-was-going-by_ into a jail cell. If anything, his intentions had been exactly the opposite. Keeping the witness behind bars didn't net answers, didn't get them any closer to an arrest, and it positively didn't get him any closer to the train station. It did nothing but add to his headache and cause problems – not to mention the plethora of paperwork he'd have to fill out.

The only thing left to do was spin this negative into a positive. Even if the act itself wasn't intentional, he'd use this opportunity constructively. His time remained his most valuable asset and, instead of wasting it, he'd be able to examine her file with a critical eye. It was best to do it without distractions, especially when she was filled with crocodile tears and convenient omissions of truth.

Still, he had a fairly good idea of what he was dealing with – once a princess, always a princess.

After getting past the whole name debacle and seeing that she was officially Rinoa Elizabeth Caraway, he began to learn a little more about her. Her birth date was listed as March 3rd which would make her twenty-three, her birthday around five months away. It was hard to believe he was only two and a half years older than her. It was very obvious that they had chosen very different career paths, starting with the simple fact – he had actually chosen one.

Her mother was listed as Julia _Elizabeth_ Heartilly, which gave some insight into the family hierarchy - the mother was most likely revered by Caraway. More than likely, she wouldn't have chosen to name the child after herself. A quick scan also indicated that it wasn't the name of a direct relative. The simplest answer was that the General must have wanted to honor his wife in some way - either that or they were tapped out in the naming department. Maybe all their creativity had been used on "Rinoa." He could honestly say it was a name he'd never heard before though - it wasn't _bad_ , just unusual.

Speaking of names, the mother's seemed to strike a familiar chord. He quickly found out why as the maternal section contained a short bio. The file indicated that she'd had a hit song before Rinoa was born. He remembered that it was one of those one-hit-wonders that only got air time because of the singer's tragic death. Honestly, he'd say that Julia Heartilly was more _infamous_ than famous. There had always been a lot of controversy in regards to Fury Caraway - whispers of affairs and mistresses, but gossip surrounded many political figures. It was too bad that Julia Heartilly had been dragged into the ugliness. She should have been mourned as a person – a mother and a wife – and not as part of a rumor or even a singer. Not to sound callous, but having _one song_ that peaked at number three on the Galbadian charts shouldn't be the defining moment in someone's life but, then again, neither should her death.

Still, only the good die young and all that showbiz talk. Tragedy was often the key to immortality, even to people with mediocre talent. Not that Julia Heartilly didn't have talent — that wasn't his call to make — but defining an entire career by one fluke hit didn't exactly pave the way to gold stars or walks of fame.

It seemed that Rinoa was barely three when it happened, so it was doubtful that she'd have any memories of her mother or any _real_ memories. Yes, she might have seen pictures or videos and created scenarios around those, a coping mechanism. Squall didn't believe in manufacturing happy, perfect memories with one moment in time. Photos were deceiving; people were conditioned to 'smile' no matter what they really felt that very second.

Although, all this information meant one thing - his earlier guess had been right on the Gil. With her mother dying young, and no sisters or even aunts, she'd most likely lost all the female influences in her life, with the exception of a nanny or caregiver. He would bet that home life was extremely tense given Caraway's temperament, especially after losing someone he'd put on a pedestal. So by that theory, Rinoa was probably raised into a situation where nobody stayed around for long.

Well, at least Caraway indirectly taught her one of life's realities. People leave.

As for her father, well, Squall knew Fury Caraway. He didn't _like_ him, but he respected him. In Squall's book, likability was as worthless as being number three on the Galbadian charts without the tragedy – nobody would remember. And just because he and the General shared a degree of respect, it didn't mean he wanted to be sitting in this shithole. Still, if he considered the career aspect, this assignment became a little more tolerable. Unless she was guilty as hell… and then it could end in career suicide.

There was a unit position opening up and if he could get that recommendation, he'd have at least a decade on the youngest assistant director on record. Now _that_ would be an accomplishment — one much more hall-of-fame and 'star worthy' than others. But society didn't reward competence, they rewarded frivolity. The fact that his ex-partner watched realty television proved that point.

Honestly, he kept returning to the Caraway connection this case. He even tried to think of the General mentioning he had a child. There had been _something_ , but it was a brief, indirect comment, said during a military charity event. After his former partner pointed out that Squall had come alone, Caraway (with aid from a brandy or two) had made some sort of backhanded comment.

His cryptic response was something like, "Squall, knows what's important and that's having a future. But if he does want to destroy his career, I know a child who's an expert at it."

It didn't make sense, but it was something else Squall hadn't put stock into. That would've been… maybe a little over three years ago? It would be around the time Rinoa should've been heading off to college.

That thought piqued his interest, so he glanced down to her educational background. Private, all-girls school for most of the time — no big shock there. The only thing that actually would've been shocking is if _princess_ had attended a public school. Her grades were good, but something said 'good' didn't cut it in the Caraway household.

For post education, that's when things got a little _odd._ Somehow, she was enrolled concurrently at two Deling universities, yet didn't attend a day at either. They were both decent schools, one definitely above the other in stature; the second was fairly accessible to all levels of income.

Even more bizarre was that a year and a half later, she again showed up again on the educational radar, but it was here, in Timber, at local community college. It was a two year program that she'd managed to finish in just over sixteen months.

As for other standard line items, there wasn't one criminal charge on her record, not even a parking ticket - again, not really a shock. Caraway's military influence probably could get minor bumps and bruises expunged from her record though his reach in Timber wasn't so great. It was either that or he'd given up on his daughter, some part of Squall wondered if it was the latter. He hoped it wasn't, but he wouldn't have been too surprised.

However, there was something else that surprised him; a section that he was shocked there was any record of – probably a section that was never meant to be seen, but maybe some low-level admin didn't get the memo. Either way, there was a screw up, and the evidence wasn't completely erased. It simply said 'see attached' so Squall looked at second sheet stapled to the back.

He read the paper once and then again, slightly amazed that this was even in existence. It wasn't against Rinoa, it was against Caraway. It seems that Squall's theory of a 'long line of caregivers' was right on the money again. It seemed that a few nannies didn't go down without a fight.

During three separate investigations, Caraway had been accused of child endangerment –physically locking his daughter in her room. The first complaint would've been filed when Rinoa was eight, two more followed at eleven and thirteen. He'd put timed locks on the doors, most likely as a form of control or to curb behavioral issues but, when she was thirteen, an electrical fire broke out in the kitchen. A rookie firefighter found her scared, hiding in her closet and unable to escape. There was nothing more in the file - no warnings or reprimands on Caraway's part, just the original complaints that obviously were meant to be buried. It did say that no physical or sexual abuse was ever discovered, but Squall did notice that 'mental abuse' was not surprisingly absent from that list.

There was something almost inhuman about it; you lock in animals, not children. Of course, the irony wasn't lost on him – he'd been the one to throw her into a cell just now. It's probably why she didn't seem fazed; she'd been in one for the majority of her life.

The entire train of thought was interrupted by a loud commotion exploding outside with doors slamming and people yelling. And judging by the increasing volume, he was soon to be graced with a friendly visit. Scoffing, he placed the paperwork back into the folder. It seemed that Detective Suave just found out that his pretty little girlfriend was in lockup. Squall _almost_ held a bit of sympathy for Quistis as she tried to reason with detective Almasy – a losing battle if there ever was one.

It was probably the wrong way to look at this, but Squall was going to enjoy this.

The door slammed open, which caused a can of dry creamer to fall from the top of the microwave. Squall watched as its contents rained down, smugly looking up at the detective.

"I'm not picking that up."

"Why you fucking prick!"

Seifer started to lunge, but was held back by two uniformed men. One Squall hadn't seen before but the other one was his long-time friend and crime-scene buddy, Officer Stop Sign. Again, Quistis was thrust into a position of mediation, but this time decided to up-the-ante by physically placing herself between the two men.

She pleaded, "Seifer, this isn't the way… I said this needed to be approached civically."

"That's rich, coming from the person who promised to protect Rinoa from ass stain over there. What kind of sick joke are you two pulling? Maybe I should be flattered you guys took a break from screwing each other to screw me - but _hell_ _no_!"

Squall fought against the overwhelming desire to chuckle. This guy looked like a rabid Chihuahua being restrained from nipping at the heels of the big-bad intruder. And poor Officer Stop Sign along with New Guy, they'd been unwittingly drafted into enforcing Timber's leash law. Squall still had no idea what their real names were. Not that he particularly cared by any stretch of the imagination, plus their little nicknames were becoming slightly endearing to him.

Silence was the most infuriating answer the agent could've given and that's exactly what Seifer got. If Squall thought he was upset before, the Chihuahua was now foaming at the mouth.

"Seriously, what kind of fucking prick even…!? Tell me, because I _really_ want to know. Or maybe there's a stick so far up your ass that it's lodged into your brain. 'Cause that's the only explanation I have for the twisted shit you pulled. Oh yeah, want to hear about the cherry on this bullshit sundae? I can't get her out. Believe me, I damn well tried, but that's not news to you Fed-Boy, now is it? You know the release order has to come from the federal level and hell, I can't even talk your leggy girlfriend over here to come to senses…. She's spouting some saying sort of shit like 'inter-agency respect' or something. Well, _I say_ it's about 'human respect' or 'human decency.' I get it, Leonhart, I do, because that whole 'respect thing' is a huge personal challenge for you. But yeah, some concepts are _sooo_ impossible to get when you're perched _sooo_ high-above us on your goddamned pedestal. Whatever, the two of you are both flippin' nuts. I don't care how many complaints I have to file, but _someone_ will pay for this."

"I was within my rights. She gave false information and obstinately refused to answer direct questions." Squall really wished he'd grabbed a cup of coffee before. This would've been the perfect time to casually take a sip.

"Seriously? The Caraway or Heartilly surname thing? Yeah, she actually mentioned it to me while they were cleaning her wounds. I told her it was no big deal, because guess what? I know this is going to be a shocker - _it's no big deal._ I said whatever made her comfortable."

"Even better. Now I can bring you up on conspiracy charges. Purposely misleading an investigation is rather frowned upon, even at the local level. If I were you, I'd look back at my pension with fond memories."

"Holy hell, it's like talking to the most fucking arrogant brick wall ever - the only difference is the brick wall serves an _actual_ purpose. Yeah, I still get it, you and your little government sedan are the shit, but meanwhile, back in reality, the rest of us are busy living on this planet."

After venting and saying his peace, Seifer took a few deep breaths. His anger didn't go away, but he'd learned methods to control it. It took a little time but, finally, he placed his hand up and gave a signal that he'd calmed down. To a point, Quistis had been correct; as painful as it was to admit, he did need to play nice with Agent Ass-stain, if for no other reason than Rinoa.

For his part, Squall was impressed that the detective had the self-discipline to calm himself. It took a surprising amount of focus and willpower - most likely the product of police-mandated anger counseling.

Although the suspicious part of him had to wonder if this was an act, just like the one his witness might be trying; so it was best to keep his guard up. However, it turned out that Quistis was more gullible, falling for whatever 'it' was hook-line-and-sinker. She let the Chihuahua off of his leash, motioning to the other two officers that they were dismissed.

Reaching in his back pocket, Seifer placed some rolled-up papers on in front of Squall. "Agent, if you treated her as a person, maybe you'd get answers. I talked to her to calm her down… it worked. And for what it's worth, she goes by her mother's name because she left Deling City at eighteen and tried to leave her father behind. She mentioned that he'd been controlling every facet of her life. Yeah, yeah, you're right – I know what you're going to say – I'll concede that she could be making it up. I've fallen for these sob stories before, but something in me wants to believe. Rinoa also explained she never had it legally changed because her father flat-out refused to give her paperwork - she's never even seen her birth certificate or any type of official documents. Hell, the girl can't even legally drive a car because he has everything. From what she said, she's pretty much been on her own and never could get the money to fight in some drawn-out legal battle. Something tells me you and your girlfriend over here don't get what it's like for those of that weren't handed everything, but whatever. Oh, and before you point out that I'm wrong, and Rinoa had things handed to her, yeah she might've, if she would've accepted all the strings attached. Anyways, it's your damn bubble, I hope you enjoy living in it."

Quistis bit her tongue, she wanted to correct him and his comments were getting old. She was _never_ Squall's girlfriend, but something gave her the impression that if something was protested in the world of Seifer Almasy – it became confirmation. Like her mother would say, the best thing she could do was to let the detective's words roll off of her like they were rainwater on a Chocobo's back.

Before he left, Seifer was going to say one more thing, and then hopefully never have to look at this man again. "Personally, even if Rinoa Heartilly isn't technically-innocent on everything, I'd call her a victim. She was trapped in more ways than one. So whatever, all smart ass comments aside, this is your call — just remember that it also affects _her_ future. If you think you're serving justice by letting her rot in a cell, that's your opinion, but I have the right to vehemently disagree. But guess that's why you're the feds and I'm not. It's also why you think of me as that piece of shit on your shoe that clings on. I get how you feel, and trust me, it's mutual."

* * *

She sat alone.

It was everything she expected it to be and served its purpose well. Four sides, two concrete walls, two sides of bars, long benches that extended the length of the solid walls, a gray cement floor, and a drain in the dead center – a textbook picture of a holding cell. Yet, what that picture could never capture was the smell; it was a reminder of all the people who'd occupied this space before and all the stories they could share. When she closed her eyes, she could picture those people the most with the odors that lingered behind – the stench of perspiration, the faint smell of vomit, and a liberal spritzing of disinfectant — all-in-all, a mixture of desperation. The cleaner didn't mask the smell completely, but it did a decent job. The longer she was there, the more her nose had grown accustomed to it. And, after a while, she couldn't even notice it– a small fact that she was grateful for.

Something else that textbook picture could never capture - what she was hearing.

Since she was by herself, everything was carried indirectly, basically whatever echoed in from the hallway. It was what she'd consider normal police station background chatter and, in all honesty, it could've been mistaken for many other workplaces. It was mainly a lot of laughter and talking. Working off of very few discernible sounds, she did manage to listen to a conversation about the Galbadia Bears' hockey team. It brought her a few minutes of normalcy as she heard two men debating a recent trade (for the record, one she was highly in favor of). Listening to two strangers debating the pros and cons of her favorite sports team also helped her forget.

Truthfully, listening to any menial conversation was a thousand times better than the yelling earlier. It started right outside her corridor and continued for way too long. Finally, the incessant noise tapered off, but not without hearing an earful. She had been the cause of it and that had been a hard reality to face, but after today, it was simply a drop in the bucket.

That yelling had been fifteen - maybe twenty - minutes ago? It was impossible to tell without having a clock to read. Truthfully, her guess was probably way off since estimating time was something she'd always been horrible at. That shortcoming combined with having a father who thrived on preciseness and punctuality was a curse.

General Caraway – one of many subjects that she'd prefer not thinking about any more today, but she apparently had no control on which way her mind wandered. And once that thought took hold, it certainly didn't want to give up without a fight. That man still had the ability to control her thoughts half a continent away.

Here she was sitting on a concrete bench, wedged in the corner where the two solid walls met, and she was thinking of him - how disappointed he'd be, the lectures he'd give, and… hell, she was kidding herself. He'd have to care enough to do any of those things; he'd stopped doing that a long time ago.

Honestly, being locked in a cell was fitting irony for forgetting to give _that name_ to Agent Leonhart.

Right now, the position she sat in mirrored the one from the ambulance – knees huddled up to her chest, hands hugging her legs. They had taken the windbreaker from her during processing; she wasn't even supposed to be wearing it. Someone had left it hanging in the break room and out of sheer desperation, she grabbed it. She had to. Each time she looked down at the stains, she recalled every ghastly detail. Things that she'd only ever seen graphically depicted in action movies became very, very real.

With how things were going today, there was no doubt the FBI would be adding misdemeanor theft to her ever-growing list of charges. Seriously, with her luck, it would probably be trumped up to grand-theft jacket by nightfall.

Until today, she had seen the inside of a jail cell once during a class fieldtrip when she was twelve-years-old and that was from the _other_ side of the bars. After that, all her knowledge was based on either television or movies, but fate obviously decided to give her some firsthand experience. She couldn't pinpoint the moment where it all went wrong, when her life ended her up in this situation.

Then there was today. More nameless faces that either cared or didn't, that either pretended or didn't bother at all.

Her thoughts on that topic wouldn't make sense to anybody - that's why she often kept things to herself. For example, most wouldn't understand that of _all_ the people she had a run in with today, she found herself trusting one above all others. Yes, he was a first class asshole and, on a personal level, he annoyed and angered her, but he also didn't offer fake pretenses. That's the quality she respected the most - not putting on some show or feigning concern just to get information.

None of them actually cared about her; they cared about what she knew – even though it was honestly little to nothing. She wondered if he was always this difficult to work with or if Seifer had been right about that other agent being his girlfriend. Or maybe an ex, and that's why he seemed stressed. She could see it, they kind of seemed right together in some bizarre way….

Rinoa had no idea why she was thinking about this or why they seemed perfect for each other. Two well-educated, career-orientated people who seemed to have everything figured out – and it didn't hurt that she was beautiful and he was gorgeous. She hated when she did this to herself but, while sitting a jail cell, one couldn't help but feel slightly pathetic. Sadly, thinking about two strangers' love lives was a creative distraction.

"Here," a voice said rather impassively.

The sound startled her; she hadn't heard anyone walk into the holding area. Even if she had, he was the last person she'd expect, especially after the debacle that ended with Seifer leaving in a huff. The detective had stopped by to say that his hands were tied with bureaucratic red tape, getting himself worked up the more he thought about it. After he left, it probably was a minute or two before the yelling started. She knew his anger wasn't going to bode well for anyone, himself included, but at least Agent Leonhart looked unscathed. Not that she was worried — something told her he could hold his own, even against Seifer.

Rinoa had to remind herself that Leonhart was just like everyone else; he wasn't here because he personally cared. She was simply a diplomatic mission. Most likely, a mission the others had forced him into taking.

She finally looked up. For some reason, she didn't feel the need to look right away; she wasn't some puppy dog at his beck and call. It was then she noticed he was holding something in his hands. She squinted her eyes, trying to see what he had, but it was at the wrong angle. At this point, she decided to be equally as stubborn, having absolutely zero intention of getting up, at least without good reason. Here she was already rotting in a cell by herself, what else could he threaten? Tar and Chocobo feathering? Hanging by Ochu tentacle? Actually, her final guess was a firing squad; he seemed to be a rather no-nonsense, not to mention no-creativity, type person… and she did steal that jacket.

Still, it was only natural to be curious. "What is it?"

"A clean shirt. It's the best that I could do."

Damn it, something useful. There was a moment where she pondered not taking it but, she _needed_ to get out of this shirt so it wasn't a choice. That final thought propelled her to stand. Still, she was leery, feeling as if she was somehow headed straight into a trap. Keeping her eyes on him, she cautiously walked over, never shaking the feeling like this was a necessary evil; in a way, maybe he was a necessary evil.

Okay, _evil_ might have been a little strong. Fine, _a lot_ strong, but she still was trying to decide who to trust. So for now, she'd settle on the fact that he was a necessary meanie or something along those lines. No matter how she felt, the truth was she had to trust someone.

As she neared, he had placed his hand through the bars, making it easier for her. Again, she wrestled with that momentary hesitation as her hand hovered above it. Shaking her head, she was horrified that taking a clean shirt was even an issue. It didn't matter who it came from, it only mattered that it wasn't covered in death.

"Thank you," she responded civilly. Just because she was locked up was no reason to forgo politeness - a lesson the guy on the other side of the bars could've benefited from.

"Your shirt's evidence. That's all."

"Wow…" With a small smile, she actually laughed at his absurdity.

He really didn't get it, not to mention 'you're welcome' appeared to be two words absent from his vocabulary. To his credit, she did buy his reason because _it was_ evidence. No matter what she would've hoped for, it was also the most logical explanation for his 'kind gesture.' It made more sense than him showing actual kindness. Looking back up at him, she noticed that he seemed like he was at a loss… probably analyzing her too. In all honesty, it was easy to understand why - he hadn't expected that reaction. She hadn't either, but the laugh just sort of naturally slipped out… he seemed so socially clueless. Maybe he'd expected her to kowtow to his authority in order to get out of here? She would be respectful, but she wouldn't beg.

"Miss Heartilly, I know this isn't the ideal place, but I do want to talk."

"What happened to Caraway?"

He took a long breath. This is why he didn't do gestures of faith. No one ever took them at face value and it always seemed to lead to more questions.

"For the purpose of questioning, if you prefer to go by Heartilly, I'll go along with it."

"Thank you. I do appreciate it." Once more, she found herself thanking him, but this time she found herself pleasantly surprised by his response.

"You're welcome." There was an awkward pause that passed between them, which he broke by motioning towards the shirt. "I'll stand guard if you want to change."

Talk about the epitome of an awkwardness. She decided the best way to comment wasn't with words — a simple nod would suffice. As he walked away, she found herself watching him. As much as she hated to admit it, there was a strange fascination about him. He seemed quite young for his position and so… well, _something_ that just escaped her. Even after all she'd gone through, she'd learned the importance of knowing how to smile and to laugh. A small part of her wondered if this stranger ever had.

Why she even had second (and possibly third) thoughts about the guy who tossed her in jail was lost on her. She was doing it again, wondering about his past and who he really was. What would ever make him smile - at least she caught herself. She couldn't save the world; she couldn't even save herself. Hell, she couldn't save anyone… it didn't matter, she'd learned the hard way that people didn't want saving.

Continuing to watch, she waited for him to make it to the door to stand guard. He was still in view, but she made sure his back was turned. She started to unfold the shirt he'd given to her and all she could do was stare in utter shock…

Maybe her earlier assessment about his inability to laugh was totally off-the-mark because, in that moment, she felt like she was in the midst of the world's most impractical-practical joke. Then again, it felt like _'joking'_ and ' _Agent Leonhart'_ were words that shouldn't inhabit the same sentence. Blinking a few times, she had to make sure this wasn't a figment of her imagination or possibly the result from an undiagnosed concussion.

By itself, the t-shirt wasn't anything special - your standard, extra-large grey shirt. What made her question her sanity was the graphic taking up the majority of the front – it was a Moomba. However, that's where reality dipped its toe into the pool of surrealism, specifically because of her particular situation. The Moomba was _also_ wearing a t-shirt that simply read 'talk to the paw.'

To wear the phrase 'Talk to the Paw' didn't exactly seem appropriate during interrogation. That is unless one was _trying_ to mock the legal system… or was utterly clueless.

…Unless that was Agent Leonhart's true intent. If so, she thought the move was well-played and maybe he did have a sense of humor after all - a dark humor. Maybe there was something more underneath his overpriced suit. She quickly realized how bad that thought sounded and was thankful it never left her own head. Again, she was quick to blame her runaway thoughts on the article of clothing in her hand.

"I… you expect me to wear this?"

"Miss Heartilly, that's the choice you have. We're working on getting you something else, but truthfully, it's rather far down on the priority list. If you'd rather wait again, that would be your choice. This was about making you feel comfortable - what you're wearing makes no difference to me."

Looking between the Moomba and the blood, he was wrong, there really wasn't a choice. "No, it's all right. I, um… suppose it kinda grows on you."

He grunted a response, but she had no idea what it meant — maybe a form of disapproval? It didn't matter as her 'talk to the paw' shirt was looking pretty damn good. "I'm going to change now."

"Understood."

That struck a familiar chord. He must have served in the military before joining the bureau; it seemed like a natural fit and given his straight-laced personality, probably one of the only fits. People who heavily relied on strict order, rules, and discipline never really strayed too far off the mark.

At this point, she'd already removed her shirt and tossed 'the evidence' over to the bench. But before putting the new one on, she double-checked that he was still turned around. He was – not that she actually expected anything different. He seemed to be watching something off in the distance, shifting slightly. As she pulled it over her shoulders, she decided that as long as he wasn't looking, it really didn't matter what he was doing.

On her, the shirt was so oversized that she could've actually gotten away with it as a dress. It was also incredibly comfortable and, although she hated to admit it, the soft cotton felt amazing. If she wasn't locked up for the next ten to twenty years, she'd have to find out who he borrowed it from, making a mental note to get one for herself because it would be perfect for sleeping in. Plus, the little Moomba guy was rather endearing after the initial shock wore off. In all fairness, if it had been that bad, she could've turned it inside out. She refused to do that for two reasons. One, there was a cute charm to it and, most importantly, she wouldn't let him intimidate her if that had been his underlying intent.

Flipping her hair from under the shirt, she called over. "Done."

Turning back, he walked back over towards the cell. Her old shirt was crumbled on the far end of the bench. He seemed to contemplate something before continuing onto the door. She was surprised when he pulled a set of keys from his jacket pocket. It seemed like a breach of protocol to allow him to have the keys, but that certainly wasn't her problem… unless of course they somehow added that onto her charges. At this point, she had to make a joke of it.

It didn't take long before the cell was unlocked and he'd let himself in. She expected him to retrieve the evidence and head off – maybe even gracing her with a droll 'bye' or, more than likely, another grunt. He didn't. Instead, he showed no hesitation as he moved to the back of the cell, taking a seat on the concrete bench. For an asshole, he really did have this air of authority about him. So, when he motioned for her to sit, she felt this helpless need to comply even though her legs didn't exactly seem willing.

"…Isn't this against policy?"

"Lots of them," he stated simply, "God, how to they expect people to sit on these?"

Still in the same place, she continued to stare at him in confusion, before he replied. "Don't answer. It was rhetorical. Now sit."

If she thought that the shirt had been surreal, this went beyond any known word in her vocabulary. As she made her way over, the situation had become increasingly-awkward - not knowing if she should look at him or look anywhere _but him_. She equated it to walking on a balance beam and, no matter which way she started to lean, she felt as if she'd be judged for the slightest mistakes. He made her… well, it wasn't as much about intimidation as it was nerves.

She reclaimed her corner spot from earlier because there was the slightest bit of familiarity to it. This time, she decided to forgo the fetal position however, something she guessed he's already sized up as a sort of weakness – not surprisingly, he wouldn't have been the first one to tell her that. This time she sat straight up, probably a little overcompensation on her part – fine, she'd concede that he was intimidating too.

It didn't help as he sat there in silence. A few seconds felt more like a millennia and she found herself biting her lower lip, just wishing he'd say something. _Anything_. Of course, looking at him didn't help one bit since this whole thing was so unsettling. Mentally, she was still in a process of recomposing herself and, no matter how awkward this was, it was much easier to live in _this_ moment than to think about the hours that came before.

In a way, the mental sparring with Agent Leonhart had helped her keep mind in the present. Everyone else had been, well… amazing. From the different paramedics, to Seifer, to Agent Trepe, but each one was coddling up to her in various degrees, saying it was going to be 'all right.'

That was a flat-out lie - it _wasn't_ all right.

And yes, she believed that they cared as much as anyone could in their line of work and while their words helped some, it wasn't about her and how she felt, it was about the information.

For good or bad, this guy managed to remind her of just that.

There were no illusions that he cared. He was there to talk about the reality although, to paraphrase a bad bumper sticker, reality sucked.

The reality was that her best friend was dead and, yes, maybe she could've done something to prevent it. Truth was she honestly couldn't have foreseen this happening, but hindsight often distorted reality that way.

Then there was the reality that the guy she knew as "Watts" wasn't at all who he said he was. Rinoa only knew him as the guy who used to surprise her with her favorite coffee drink and loved to do crossword puzzles. He was also the guy she found a tad annoying because he'd ask the weirdest questions at the most random times. Rinoa had thought it was a quirky personality trait, but come to find out, it wasn't. It was his job. Then there was the harsh reality that maybe she'd said the wrong thing or given the wrong answer to someone and that's why they were dead.

…Maybe she _did_ deserve to be sitting in this cell.

She'd known about Zone and his 'side business,' but he'd saved her more than once. He'd helped her get out of Deling City and away from that man. He'd given her a roof over her head and given her food when she had nothing. And no matter what, he was the one there for her when nobody else was. He was a good person who, like her, found himself on his own and circumstances that spiraled downward until he was trapped. No matter what, people were going to focus on the bad, make him into something he wasn't. They'd only remember him as the guy who got a federal agent killed. Funny how every person here said they wanted the truth, but they didn't - at least not about him. Nobody would mourn him… she would.

She thought that she could save him, but you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved.

Yet another harsh truth for a harsh reality.


	5. Mistakes and Regret…

_ 4:45 pm, October 10th _

She needed to pull herself back into her surroundings as thinking about Zone wasn't helping. No matter what others believed of his mistakes, she would take time to mourn him. Right now, she had to just make it through the questioning with her sanity intact.

It sounded easy, but it really wasn't.

Rinoa readily admitted that her biggest personality flaw was that, every once in a great while, she'd fixate on something arbitrary to the situation. Often she reminded herself that these thoughts meant nothing beyond the surface – a mental diversion of sorts. A good example of this was that she'd once survived a rather nasty argument with Caraway entirely focused on a chocolate mousse tort that was being served for dessert. So, yes, her thought process was always random and meant nothing – well, besides for not breaking down during those moments.

With that understanding, she was inclined to focus on _this_ above everything else for two specific reasons. First, it wasn't in the same category as anything else; it wasn't life or death. Second, and most importantly, it was sitting directly in front of her. It wasn't the time or place, but the reality was that the man in front of her was… _everything._

Okay, maybe it was slightly out-of-character to be captivated by a person rather than a sinfully-delicious dessert. Yeah… she wasn't even going there, maybe that was a comparison that shouldn't be made. Again, she was thankful that the stupidity of her thoughts remained firmly inside her head. On top of that, now she'd got her subconscious screaming for chocolate mousse too. Perfect, just perfect.

Thankfully, it was easier because she'd never see him after today, so that underlying air of mystery would survive. Still, she had to admit that he was… Well, right off the bat, she'd obviously start off with mysterious, but from there she'd go with breathtaking, gorgeous, and intriguing. But to balance things out, she'd add in equal parts of asshole, jerk, and, oh yeah, as she stated earlier – a complete _meanie_.

Even so, _'everything'_ remained a confusing thought, one that she certainly didn't want or need. She was mad at herself for even having it; it was so vastly inappropriate. She wasn't some thirteen-year-old girl who didn't understand the severity of her situation - she understood it to a point of already becoming physically ill.

So, yes, for thirty seconds, she'd allowed herself to concentrate on the color of his eyes – the way the color would deepen and reflect as the light hit them at perfect angles. It damn well seemed justified in a day that had been fueled by nightmare-fodder. It meant nothing, just meaningless thoughts about someone's eye color. However, they were ones that looked at her with contempt, but she'd accept that for her role in _… life._ Even malice behind blue eyes was so much better than the alternative…

…It was better than the grainy texture of blood as it coated her hands; the liquid that streamed endlessly, staining her skin and clothing as it had congealed. Now, she felt as if it had become a part of her, pooling under her nails, finding every crevice of her skin. In some spots, it was dry and brittle, to a point where it would almost flake off, but she couldn't forget it _before_ \- warm, thick… everywhere.

…It was also better than the smell. Any day she lived, she'd take contempt over the pungent stench of death and fire. Those smells still clung to her, refusing to let go. Blood was something she'd smelled throughout life - from a scraped knee to a bloody nose; now the bitter, coppery smell made her want to retch. It wasn't just the smell of blood that would serve as a catalyst. It would also be the charring aroma during a holiday barbeque or from an overcooked roast. Even the lighting of a fireplace after a snowfall would never be some romantic gesture; it would be a reminder of _this_ memory.

…But most of all, any moments she could focus on his eyes were moments where she didn't focus on the sounds – those haunted her the most. She didn't even need to close her eyes - she could hear them; she'd always hear them. Screams. Horror. Death. Today she learned that death had a sound. In fact, it had many, many sounds. Too much to take in – no one mind could process the entire barrage - some slipped through, while others remained in her subconscious.

Waiting. Waiting…

But for now, those that reached her conscious were the screams of all those around, the sirens that were never close enough to help, and even the building's explosion - the force of impact resounding within her. She felt it; she felt the sounds of death... Death was a symphony - composed of guttural cries and desperation of the dying. She'd never forget the emotion that overwhelmed her as "Watts" used his last moments of life to warn her… and his final breath was a whisper of his wife's name. Death was the labored breaths as he tried to speak, drowning in his own lungs. It was the small bubbles in the blood that gurgled from his mouth. She'd never watched someone die, watched someone take that final desperate gasp… until today.

So, yes, if all her senses had been inundated with horror, she had the right to look into his eyes and, no matter what he thought of her, all she could see was how damn beautiful they were. It was a selfish moment that he'd never understand and, in all truth, she couldn't understand it either. So again, no matter how inappropriate it was, maybe having distracting thoughts would keep her sane.

Even if his sole purpose was to torment her for her poor choices, given the alternative, she found herself willing to accept it.

* * *

…He honestly had no idea what he was doing here, in a holding cell no less. If the bureau's underlying motive was to torment him because Fury Caraway's daughter made poor choices, they'd succeeded and he was forced to accept it.

If it wasn't the FBI tormenting him, maybe it was fate.

He'd once read somewhere that fate was a fickle creature or maybe that was irony – either way, it didn't matter because both fit this situation. Maybe this was cosmic payback for attempting trying to leave the seminar a day early. Here he'd requested to go but, as a quid quo pro, was forced to take his accruing vacation time. Thankfully, it wasn't wasted as he spent that time filling out proper expenditures, and cross-checking department budgeting. And for fun, he spent his last three vacation days at the bureau's library.

Squall knew that for most people, reviewing procedures wouldn't qualify as entertainment but to him, brushing up on them was a holiday well-spent. That was the beauty in the words 'entertainment' and 'fun' because they came down to the matter of semantics. And that's why he did it, because he was wanted to learn, believing the techniques being taught would boil down to be being the same, yet with a different edge; he'd even written his own variations on current methods for fun. Then when he got there, it was complete and utter shit.

Honestly, he could've taught the entire seminar with his eyes closed. At one point, he considered getting up and taking the podium. Although he wasn't one to say much, if it was a situation where his knowledge could benefit up-and-coming agents, he'd be glad to – it was better than listening to incompetence.

Of course, his superiors would've kicked his ass, so it was better to leave a day early than risk going off on sheer stupidity. However, it appeared that fate had the last laugh because he didn't leave Timber (aka New Hell) soon enough. It also seemed that either way, he was destined to go off on someone today – he'd only switched targets. Instead of going after a twenty year vet of the FBI for his incompetence, he decided to verbally berate the girlfriend of a drug dealer. Or the girlfriend of the lead detective… he didn't know which one yet. He believed that in all this mess some guy, somewhere, was foolish enough to be her boyfriend. History taught him, in these cases, there was _always_ a poor fool.

Just as he thought earlier, this had to be some sort of cosmic joke. And the punch line? That would be him being assigned to the case.

Continuing to stare forward, he felt something that he hadn't remembered since his days at Garden – doubting his approach. He never doubted himself – ever. He had to wonder, why now? Why had he felt on edge since leaving his hotel this afternoon? Maybe it was the three days of his life wasted at the worthless seminar. He kept thinking it had to get better, but it didn't and he'd never get that time back. Now, right when he was looking forward of getting back to the office, he was forced into babysitting a princess.

Still, he didn't know if his stress was causing his doubt or his doubt was causing his stress. Not to mention she seemed to be staring at him. There was no way to think it without sounding conceded but, he wasn't exactly a stranger to this. Though… it didn't usually happen with someone he'd thrown in jail, especially while still sitting in said jail. Then again, he was treading on new territory. _Very new_ seeing as in all his years, he'd actually never been _in_ a cell. This was the side of law he never dealt with because once he turned them over, they were booked and he didn't see their pathetic faces again until trial. He would give Miss Heartilly the advantage there; she was much prettier than most of the lowlifes he visited.

…Not that she wasn't a lowlife – he didn't know that yet; or not that he thought she was pretty, just better looking than what he normally dealt with. Well, it _wasn't_ just that she… whatever. He was losing it.

As for jail, there had been occasions where he'd gone to do preliminary interviews or when one piece of shit ratted another out for reduced time, but those were all done from private rooms. Actually, thinking about it, he'd only been this close to a cell once, it was on a school field trip. He hadn't thought about that in years, in fact. It was before he was sent to military school and was one of those few memories where he felt like a normal kid. Why he was thinking of that now was ridiculous — who thinks of things like that at a time like this?

He chalked this day up to new experiences – ones that he'd rather have done without. He needed out of here and in order to do that he needed to look at this from another angle. His techniques were proven but, if studying for the seminar managed one lesson, it was that sometimes a change in an approach was needed. Plus, if Detective Almasy could deal with her, it couldn't be rocket science.

Honestly, he wasn't sure why he felt such hostility towards her without any logical reason. It wasn't like him. Maybe on some subconscious level, it bothered him that he'd been so hard on her, but he'd always held a rather large distain for these sorts of cases. Nobody was ever innocent - they just tried to paint a deluded picture that they were. So it really wasn't out of nowhere, although that's probably how it appeared to her.

"As I stated, I concede to let you go by Heartilly during the interrogation process. But for the record, I believe that a name doesn't define who you are, despite the popular belief that it does. So, for that reason, I'll agree."

"Thank you." She looked at him with slight skepticism. "…That's an _interesting_ statement."

"What of it?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Rinoa waved it off, although the comment was stored and filed in her mind.

He'd kept his body stationary, but crooked his neck enough to watch her out of curiosity. It was also the first good look he'd had since she'd changed into that atrocity that tried to pass itself off as a t-shirt. Also, it wasn't too surprising that she more or less was swimming in an ocean of gray fabric.

He continued to examine her. In all honesty, he had found it difficult to believe she'd survived the blast with only a few superficial scratches. Furrowing his brow, he immediately zeroed in on a rather large bandage, although for the most part, it was concealed by the shirt sleeve. Even it wasn't completely, this had been the first time her arms were openly visible. Until now, she'd been wearing a long-sleeved blouse which covered that wound. It matched where there had been a rip in her shirt, but there had been so much blood, there was no way to tell whose was whose.

But now, he could see without obstruction – her arm surprisingly looked bad, although she didn't really seem to be favoring it much. There's a good chance she was given something at the scene and that would change once the adrenaline of the situation wore off. Even if she had time to 'cool down' in jail, it was surprising how much pain one could deal with after going through a personal disaster like she had. In the morning, that was going to hurt.

There were several abrasions, most likely caused by a fall or sliding along the pavement but, more importantly, there was an obvious trail of dried blood. It looked as if she'd been playing with one of the larger pieces of gauze on her arm. It was completely askew and definitely wasn't professional, looking as if she'd rewrapped it herself. Earlier he noted that she tended to mess with things as a nervous habit and, by the looks of the wrap, it could be a possible implication that she wasn't as innocent as she tried to play herself off as. He wanted to ask, but anything she said here would be his word against hers – he needed witnesses.

"We need to get back to a more appropriate setting. If you really want to help us, then you're free… to leave this cell. Don't get any ideas." He stood up and started stretching, five minutes on the bench and he knew the after effects would be with him for days to come. Perfect.

"Oh, by the way, please don't take this deal as something it's not. It's a truce only on your name. My job is still to get answers, even the ones you'd rather prefer stay hidden."

To his shock, he felt the pressure of someone touching his lower left arm. It was extremely gentle, but any touch was enough to make him react. Stopping mid-stretch, he did an immediate about-face. Even she must've gotten the clue, retracting her hand quickly. Clasping both hands at her chest, she looked stunned, almost as if she'd thought she'd hurt him or something. Given his reaction, he could see how one would draw that conclusion. Yes, he was well-aware that his reaction came off as hasty, but he didn't like being touched - especially by someone being questioned over a double homicide.

"Agent Leonhart," she said his name as if it was some form of apology. Looking down, he could tell she was too embarrassed to even look him in the eyes as she continued. "I don't what they've said or even what you think about me or the men who died. I get everyone's going to mourn the agent… and they should, they _really, really_ should. It's just that…"

She struggled for words, words that nobody was going to believe anyhow. "Zone wasn't a bad guy. He was just… he was lost – that's the best way I can put it. I guess, you can say he became lost and all the wrong people found him. He wasn't always that way, but I think he felt… trapped."

" _Trapped?"_ Squall found her choice of words particularly telling, especially after Seifer's commentary about Mrs. Heartilly's own life. It was odd that both of them had chosen that particular phrasing; yes, it could've been because of common usage or it could've been working in tandem on some sort of defense. He would continue to look out for any other similarities.

He'd started to walk off, but then turned back around quickly. His intent was to catch her off guard, surprising her with a direct question. "Were you aware that Zone was dealing drugs?"

The directness worked, to a point. She nodded her head, indicating that yes, she was aware, with her mouth slightly agape.

"All right."

Without anything further, he walked out of the cell. There was a part of him that felt… _disappointed_ by her response. Why he ever hoped for anything out of people was beyond him — it was like the same record repeating itself. At least he had her answer and it would be enough to lock her up on preliminary charges, but again, without witnesses, getting them to stick would be another matter.

* * *

_ 5:20 pm, October 10th _

This didn't feel like déjà vu, it _was_ déjà vu.

It was the same break room - minus the spilled creamer that an unlucky rookie was assigned to clean up. It had been the same day - exactly an hour and twenty minutes removed from the first failed attempt. At least the sun was still up.

Most importantly, it was the same players, but with the exception of one huge addition – a referee.

Maybe 'referee' was an incorrect term as it implied neutrality. Not one person in the room considered him 'neutral' in any sense of the word. Even Seifer would freely admit that he was biased - he'd actually be proud of this fact, emphasizing it with vivid gestures and color commentary. Unfortunately, Squall found that no amount of arbitration by Quistis would convince the detective to remain on the sidelines.

As much as Squall hated to admit it, maybe it worked out for the best. He didn't exactly want to spend the entire night camped out here and maybe having the precinct's pet Chihuahua around would actually benefit everyone.

Plus, it would solve the problem that he'd run into earlier...

After escorting Mrs. Heartilly back to the break room, and having an officer stand guard as a precaution, he went in search of Quistis and Detective Almasy. After a rather thorough search, he finally located Quistis on the second floor. To his dismay, she was going over her files at Detective Almasy's desk, although the fact that his work space was located in the far corner was telling.

Squall considered this Timber PD's version of 'solitary confinement' and was a strategic move to keep him away from general population — a choice Squall wholeheartedly-endorsed. And while Seifer had exaggerated about his fort's size, he hadn't exaggerated its existence. It was only a few feet high and sat on a spare table against the wall. Squall's headache was never going to get better if this is what he was dealing with. How Seifer weaseled his way into being their liaison he'd never understand.

Approaching Quistis, he didn't bother hiding his disapproval. It was a small building but there had to be a better alternative seating. Still, he wasn't here to play lunch room politics; he wanted to get a move on. With that in mind, he entrusted Quistis to find the errant detective as he had something more important to do – basically, anything but that.

Returning downstairs, Squall went to the area near the water cooler. He used this time to his advantage. So, while Quistis was leashing up Seifer, he checked his messages and then used his phone to look up an online timetable. The last train for Deling City pulled out of the station at 9:20. This gave Squall exactly four hours to wrap his portion up and then hightail it over to the station. The one message that remained absent was any communication from his director. Squall was still unclear about what his role entailed or when it could be passed off to a local agent. For now, his working premise was that he was to gather information which could be relayed to Caraway.

That was precisely his intention – to remain at this table until he could deliver the truth, even if it meant enduring Seifer Almasy. Sadly, it was against the law to muzzle a fellow brother in law enforcement. As an odd coincidence, he'd once asked his boss that exact question in passing about his former partner. Of course, all Director Kramer did was laugh, pat him on the back, and say he was glad that he was finally loosening up and developing a sense of humor. Of course, he _hadn't_ been kidding.

And so, here he was.

Squall was about ready to begin, glancing at the open folder in his hand. This time, Quistis sat beside him. He didn't try to shield the reports from her, but he was still leery of the other side of the table. To no one's surprise, Seifer had claimed his seat first, diagonal from him, but right next to the witness.

"Please state your name for the record."

"It's Rinoa Elizabeth… Caraway, but I prefer to go by Heartilly… It was my mother's maiden name."

Rinoa had actually surprised herself, she was simply going to say Heartilly and enjoy the minor victory, but felt that she owed him that much. He may never believe her, but her intention had never been to complicate things, no matter how much it might have seemed that way.

She swallowed, nervously looking over at him. His jaw had been clenched and he wasn't smiling, far from it, but she believed his expression had softened a bit.

"For the rest of the questioning, I'll be addressing the witness as Rinoa Heartilly for continuity's sake."

She knew that it was simply for clarity when someone replayed the tape but, unlike him, she had no qualms about showing her appreciation with a smile. It wasn't much, just a simple gesture of gratitude, but it was her hope they'd make it through the rest of this with a little grace and civility.

"At approximately 12:31, local time, a bomb went off in the cross section between Jefferson Mitchell Parkway and Dogwood Court. Can you explain what brought you to that area and who you were with?"

"Um, yeah, I was with Zone and Watts. And lunch… I mean that's why we were there. It was a little cool, but we'd eaten outside because Angelo was with us. We'd just left the Neon Chocobo… maybe two or three minutes before when… well, you know."

"You neglected to list that name before. To have the information on record, can you state who Angelo is?"

"She's my dog. Oh, and her full name is Sant' Angelo di Roma if you need it, but, _ugh_ , why did I say that? Of course you don't need her full name. It was just after what… you know. Sorry, sorry."

"It's fine. Miss Heartilly, you stated that you ate outside for the sake of your dog. During that time, did you or anybody in your lunch party see or speak to anyone else?"

"Just the waitress who took our order… Oh, and I know I would've at least said thank you to the server who brought our food. They _might've_ too, but I honestly can't recall. That was it."

The more she spoke, the more parched her mouth had become. This wasn't normal for her; she'd always found it quite easy to speak to people, but this was different. This was about her life and her nerves were eating at her – even the things she shouldn't feel nervous about suddenly became a big deal.

But most of all, it was hard enough just having to relive the memories. She wanted to forget, but he was forcing her to remember. The agent was correct in doing his job. Her story needed to be told, especially if there was something she subconsciously knew. She'd do anything to help.

"You're doing fine, Miss Heartilly." He spoke so evenly that Rinoa had no idea if his words were meant as sincere encouragement or as an indifferent assessment. Still, he wasn't raising his voice, so it had already gone far better than last time. Again, Rinoa found herself swallowing in a desperate attempt to do _anything_ about the uncomfortable feeling. That's why she was surprised when a cup of water was suddenly placed in front of her; maybe Seifer had heard her voice crack or something? Either that or he was just astutely intuitive, either way, she was truly grateful. Turning to look at him, she flashed a brief, appreciate smile. The strangest part was that she didn't even know if the detective had gotten out of his seat or what. She was usually much more observant, but she'd been too focused on Agent Leonhart's questions.

Their exchange didn't go unnoticed by Squall as he fought the natural desire to roll his eyes once more. Instead, he shrugged it off, making sure that at least his part of the interview remained professional.

"For verification purposes - neither you, nor anyone in your party, had outside interaction with anyone else beside the wait staff."

Rinoa nodded in agreement.

"Please give a verbal answer — the reply needs to be heard on tape."

"Oh, sorry… Yeah, we didn't speak to anyone else."

"Is it common for you to bring your dog along for lunch dates? It strikes me as slightly abnormal."

"Well, yes and no… I mean, I never had to before but, she's not fond of being left alone. I mean, it obviously can't be helped at times. Since I've moved in with Zone into his very small place, I try to get her some fresh air whenever I can… and for October, it really was beautiful. I sort of looked at it as a bonus day for her… some bonus it turned out to be."

He was shocked. There was no way around it, but to any onlooker, his façade never changed. Anytime he held any hope of her not being involved, he found that she was in this deeper and deeper. In the jail cell, she admitted she knew he sold drugs, and now he knew she was living with him.

Daddy wasn't going to be happy about this. Now was the time to see if little princess could admit her prior knowledge on tape. Squall had a feeling that the Chihuahua would be barking soon.

"Miss Heartilly, again this is just for verification - as of this morning, you have admitted that you shared the same residence as Zone - the same person killed in today's bombing, the same person under surveillance by the DEA, the same person who you were aware was dealing drugs from his residence. Apologies, your _joint_ residence."

Seifer hit his hand on the table, drawing everyone's attention. He'd been trying to keep his attitude in check for Rinoa's sake as much as his own, but his aggravation was quickly pouring through.

"Hold up… I have an issue and for _verification,_ I want this going _on the record_." Putting up his fingers, Seifer made air quotes as he repeated Squall's previous phrases. This fed didn't even make mocking him a challenge. Agent Leonhart's vast stupidity overflowed, rolling off of him and conveniently right into the detective's lap. And truthfully, Seifer _did_ have a huge issue with Leonhart – the same one since the crime scene.

"The floor is yours Detective Almasy, you may address the witness. Remember, as you said, any statements will be on the record," Squall replied smoothly.

"Clever, very clever," Detective Almasy chuckled, believing he was in the process of an attempted set-up.

On the tape, Seifer would appear that he was overly-sympathetic with Rinoa, becoming her knight in shining armor, instead of a cop who wanted answers. Squall knew _exactly_ what he was doing and Seifer mentally tipped his hat to him – asshole or not, this Leonhart was proving to be a worthy opponent. Of course, not worthy enough. Detective Almasy wasn't worried about being reprimanded; it was as commonplace to him as breathing was. Squall, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. As Seifer first thought, this guy probably never had reprimand a day in his life. So, Seifer decided to do the agent a public service and help him start the foundation for a castle of his very own. Leonhart seemed the castle sort of guy, rather than a fort.

He also knew it might not be appropriate to bait Fed-Boy further but, it was so just so damn fun and making goody-two-shoes lose his temper would be a major victory.

"We all know what you get out of our little exchange – you take a copy of this tape home and get off on your superiority. Trust me, none of us here wanna know the sordid details of what turns you on or exactly how you ended up with that stick up your ass."

Looking across the table, he baited Quistis with a wink. "Correction, maybe Leggy-Fed wants to know since she's probably into that kinky stuff too." With that, he leaned over to the tape player. "Oh yeah, that's so on the record, for whoever else listens to this."

"Is there a point in there somewhere? Although it's nice listening to you dig your own grave, some of us have a job to do," Squall growled.

"Oh, you didn't get the point, did you? Well, that's your problem. But I'm going to tell you about my problem – you keep forgetting that Rinoa Heartilly is a witness, not a suspect. I know words are difficult to understand in that fed head of yours."

"Squall, he's not worth it," Quistis reminded the agent before he could respond. Of course, she'd inadvertently made it worse.

"Yes, _Squall,_ I'm so not worth it… now, let me take wild stab in the dark, you two cozy kids stayed in the same room last night, didn't ya? I'm close, right? Come on, even a little?"

Squall had been upset for allowing this moron to get to him. He'd even let the emotion slip through with that last response. It was mistakes like those that would cost him dearly.

And with that, Squall returned to a calm demeanor. "Again, I'd like to remind everyone that this is evidence and will be reviewed accordingly. Consider this a friendly reminder, a professional courtesy from one law enforcement officer to another. Now, I believe the suspect was talking."

All four of them reacted to his mistake. Quistis was horrified, Seifer, well, he honestly felt bad. It was one thing to go after Leonhart but he hadn't meant to hurt Rinoa. He cursed to himself that he'd find a way to make it right to her.

Then, there were the other two – the ones most affected.

Squall knew it was one thing thinking it but it was quite another to state it out loud so Rinoa could hear it – and to have it on tape no less. In a way, Squall had just handed Seifer the victory he'd been striving for – not only handed - but gift wrapped, tied with a lovely red bow, and delivered. The agent tried to play it off as nothing, but still found himself glancing to Rinoa, gauging her response. The disturbing thing was that the girl who seemed to show her emotions at every turn suddenly turned into a blank slate.

To Squall, it was just words, but to Rinoa, it was so much more.

He'd hurt her. She knew that it was stupid and ridiculous and too many other things to even begin to go into. She also understood that he wasn't there to befriend her or some other foolish notion; she wasn't that delusional. Still, him thinking she had something to do with her best friend's death… it cut. It cut _deeply_. Ironically, one of things she'd appreciated before was his detachment – well, until he voiced his actual opinion.

Agent Leonhart had been hard on her, but she'd equated it to some kind of scared-straight police thing in regards to the company she kept. But no… he honestly believed she had a hand in killing her friends.

The best thing he could do was to change nothing.

"We are trying to find the person or persons responsible. Excluding Miss Heartilly, I will remind everybody that I'm conducting an investigation and you're free to leave if you have a problem with the way I'm handling it."

Looking directly at Rinoa, he tried to ignore that uneasy feeling the pit of his stomach. It would've been easier if she cried or even got mad, but it was her indifference that became extremely unsettling.

"Miss Heartilly, can you please explain how you knew both of the deceased?"

"They were my friends," she stated firmly, but with an underlying coldness to her words.

She didn't want to breakdown again – she'd mourn her friends, she'd cry for them alone, and she most definitely wouldn't allow this pompous ass get to her.

He was just one of _those_ people; a negative person who blended in with the rest and, in a few weeks, she hoped he'd be just another forgotten name in her head.


	6. Drops of Blood...

_ 5:28 pm, October 10th _

After asking a question and receiving a surprisingly-defiant response, Agent Leonhart couldn't help finding himself _silently_ impressed. Maybe it was all those years she literally spent trapped in Caraway's mansion that helped her gain some resilience.

Of course, these observations would never leave the safety of his mind; wild Chocobos couldn't even drag it out of him. The fact was, he always gave credit where credit was due - she wasn't quite the meek little princess he'd expected, but how much of that was resolve or how much was entitlement remained the question. Time would only tell and uncovering the truth was on his agenda. He still had to narrow down what her attitude was stemming from — her guilt, innocence, or something else entirely.

Speaking of which, as devoted as her answer of 'they were my friends' was, it wasn't the kind he needed to his question.

"Miss Heartilly, while your loyalty to your friends is duly noted, it doesn't answer my question. The details are going to be what makes or breaks this case and again, if your intent is to help, you'll need to give more background on your relationships with the deceased."

"Yes, my intent is to help." She wanted to say so much more but, out of respect for her friends, she wouldn't let the negativity win. "Can you please give me a few moments? …I just need to collect myself."

At that point, she expected a room full of objections, but was only met with silence. Reaching for her cup, she took a sip of the water Seifer had poured earlier. As she returned it to the table, she wondered if the others could see how badly her hand had been trembling. When she was holding the water, her shaking had become extremely obvious – she had to wonder what that spoke about her guilt or innocence; she knew that even the smallest move was being scrutinized. Glancing at the others, she looked from Seifer to Agent Trepe. In all honesty, she was surprised at how quiet they were being.

Well, maybe that wasn't much of a surprise in Agent Trepe's case seeing as she hadn't even spoken. She seemed to be the type more intent at observing as Rinoa had seen her individually studying all of them to a point. Actually, Rinoa thought it was nice not to be the only one singled out in their dysfunctional group.

Still, even sitting here at the break room table, Rinoa couldn't shake the quiet dignity that surrounded Quistis and all the woman had been doing was taking shorthand notes. While they were still at the crime scene, the DEA agent had told Rinoa to call her by her first name, but it felt… _odd._ Rinoa couldn't exactly pinpoint why; she couldn't say if it was simply because of her job or just the refined air about her that commanded respect. In all actuality, Quistis Trepe may have been her age, maybe two or three years older _at most._ Still, there was something weird by calling her by her first name – the awkwardness sort of mirrored trying to call your teacher or college professor by their first name. Maybe that's why she also fascinated Rinoa, not to mention intimidated the hell out of her – sort of like the other federal agent in the room.

Actually, as Rinoa glanced over, she couldn't even sustain eye contact. But it didn't matter as it only took that quick glance to know the professor analogy fit to a T, especially because Agent Trepe had just put on a pair reading glasses. Not only did she look beautiful, she looked more astute – a rather intimidating combination to anyone.

In some ways, Quistis Trepe was truly the perfect match for Agent Leonhart; their dedication to their careers only rivaled their looks and sophistication.

And… she was doing it again. Damn it.

Rinoa had no explanation why her thoughts had drifted into that very peculiar direction again. She couldn't even produce a valid reason _why_ she was speculating about their relationship, well, beyond the point that they'd obviously known each other from the past. Rinoa knew it was more than 'in passing' when Agent Trepe attempted to calm Agent Leonhart down by using his first name. He did not seem like the type of person who preferred to be addressed by his first name. Her father was the same way; there were _possibly_ four or five people that would call him Fury in a social setting and then live to tell the tale.

This guy was different though. In the course of a few hours, she saw something more, someone more. Even out of those few men that her father might define as friends, none of them would _ever_ refer to him on a first name basis in a work setting. Not to mention, in a situation like this, her father wouldn't ever have qualms about his conscience. He'd let that person rot in the jail cell as long as the law would let him… and then longer. Most of all, Caraway would never make amends, even if it was obvious he'd been prodded by someone else – like in her case.

Damn these stupid thoughts. She had always been rather good at procrastinating, something else the General pointed out to her every chance he could.

Rinoa then looked towards Seifer, but he remained abnormally quiet. For some reason, she assumed he'd be oozing with advice and encouragement – or at least a random jab at the federal agents across from them, but all she got was a nod of encouragement for her to begin. Oddly, combined with his rather lopsided grin, it was enough. No matter what the others thought of him, he was genuine, albeit a tad overzealous, but he seemed to believe the best in people.

She returned her attention on Agent Leonhart. "Thank you. I mean, for giving me a few moments. I… needed it." It was surprisingly hard, but she managed a weak smile.

"Watts, or… um, whoever he was, he was really sweet. He cared… or maybe not… it's funny how everything changes with one simple fact. I knew Watts for a little under a year… At first, I remember him from just stopping by once and a while to um… well, he just made quick visits."

"He would purchase drugs from Zone."

Rinoa was glad that she wasn't the one who had to say it. She nodded, but then remembered that would be useless for the recording.

"Yes, that's what I assumed. To be fair, I never saw any transactions… Zone did at least try to shield me, but I knew. As for how they met, I don't know. I think in a way, I didn't want to know so…I didn't question things like that. I just… accepted them. No, I understood, I never accepted anything, even at the end… I thought I could save him but…"

She'd trailed off. They didn't care about her hopes and dreams, her happy bunnies-and-rainbows idealistic future when things would be different. Hopes and dreams meant nothing, especially now when they were… dead.

Sticking to the question, she continued to answer to the best of her ability. "He and Zone hit it off and would go out drinking… I do know how our friendship started – Zone apparently made an offhand, _'hey, you should come over and watch a game sometime.'_ See, we were all Galbadian Bears fans. It was our hometown and some things stick with you… you want to remember the good times, I guess. It's ironic, because I know Zone wasn't being sincere when he'd blurted out the invitation. He'd been drinking and had strict rules about never mixing friends and… business. Out of the blue, Watts showed up on game night once, but it actually turned out to be fun… I actually found myself laughing again. Eventually, after hockey season ended, it somehow turned into all major sporting events and it sorta became our thing, our tradition."

Squall could tell that this was hard for her but, even if he had some empathy to her situation, it was difficult for him to make the leap to actual sympathy. If she knew the truth, why stay around? Yes, she didn't have an immediate place to go – but there were ways to escape if she wanted it badly enough. Not to mention she was smart; he'd seen her education transcript and from what he saw, she had spunk. He'd heard the same story over and over the past - different witnesses, different backgrounds, but always the same story. It was difficult to understand why people like her didn't try to start over. Even if they were handed a bad hand, she had to tools to overcome it. Yet, she didn't.

He also noticed that she'd subconsciously started to play with the bandage on her arm. That had been his initial guess in the holding cell since no paramedic would do such a half-assed job. She even winced in pain so maybe the reality was setting in. The thing was that he didn't even think she knew what she was doing – like something on autopilot. For some reason, he found himself focusing on that arm, even as she continued.

"I don't want… the truth… I just want, it was…" Her resolve had started to break; her first attempt nothing more than an accidental sob. She caught herself, taking a moment before continuing. "Looking back on it now, I wish I never knew the truth… I lost three friends today. Not only did both men die, but Watts probably never even cared – I wasn't his friend, I was an assignment. Just like I am to the three of you. Over the last few years, I haven't had a chance to make a lot of friends — I've sorta stayed had to stay to myself. …I-I wasn't always like this. Believe it or not, I was… outgoing but things changed, situations changed."

She briefly closed her eyes, desperate to force out the last two words. "…I changed."

Squall returned his attention towards his papers, flipping through them again. He was curious why he didn't have a file on Zone. He could understand why getting the information about an undercover agent would take time but… Zone's history wasn't marred with red tape.

"Quistis, can you see what you can do about getting background information on Zone?"

"Aww, did the dynamic duo of super-feds forget that?" Seifer held up a folder, smirking. "Say pretty-please and if you show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Glaring, Squall clenched his jaw, thinking of the pure audacity of this asshole. He wasn't going to play games. Turning towards Quistis, he repeated his request.

"Again, if you could even get me a list of priors and brief history, it would be appreciated."

"No problem. I'll send the request to a personal friend so you'll have it no time." She looked up at Seifer, giving him a rare smile. "As to your offer, no thanks, I prefer to have a complete and accurate one. You could show us yours, but I won't be impressed. I guarantee yours will be lacking in many, many areas."

Rinoa probably wasn't supposed to find that funny, especially in her situation, but for some reason she did. She also noticed that Squall turned his head quickly, looking away from all of them. Before he did, Rinoa swore she saw the thinnest hint of a smile. It surprised her since he seemed way above juvenile retorts but, it wasn't so much that as it had been Quistis' delivery. Again, it had been flawless – so was the face Seifer made. On a side note, Rinoa also noticed that Squall had called the other agent Quistis.

"Whatever, I was trying to be a team player… and make no mistake, you _would_ be impressed. My file is impressive." Seifer wished he'd come up with something better than that but the perfect comeback was somewhere on the tip of tongue. He hated to admit it but, he'd been caught off guard. He was expecting it from Leonhart, not Leggy-Fed.

By now, Squall's brief interlude of amusement had passed – it had been an extremely-rare occurrence to say the least.

"Miss Heartilly, what you've laid out does give us a decent background. But tabling it for now, we'll revisit that subject once I've established a better overview. Now I want to delve into your relationship with Zone. How long have you been aware that he's been moving narcotics in Timber?"

"I knew… he did. He shouldn't have… I just wanted to help," Rinoa whispered the seemingly-nonsensical statement. She knew that her words didn't answer his question, but they possibly raised a few – like her sanity for one.

Squall watched as the color physically drained from her face and she momentarily drifted off. There was something about her that was almost… serene? Just like that, the trance was broken as her entire body began trembling. He continued to watch her take deep breaths – for the first time, he knew it wasn't an act. Well, at least these fears, memories, or whatever she was experiencing was very, very real.

Briefly, he wondered if she was going to hyperventilate or even pass out. It seemed that Seifer shared his concerns, placing a hand on her shoulder. However, it appeared as though she didn't want to be touched as Rinoa waved him off and to Squall's pleasant surprise, he appeared to be concerned rather than to feel merely rejected. In fact, Seifer looked over to him as both men seemed to be caught off guard.

"Are you all right?" Squall asked, genuinely concerned.

"Rin, hey, hey, listen to my voice. We're all right here. You're safe. We all know what you went through today… don't do this to yourself - take more time if you need it. These are hard questions to face and I wish I could tell you it would be a walk in the park, but I'm not going to lie. But you need to think here, you want to know who killed your friend, right? So take whatever time you need and then we'll do this for him."

She seemed to nod, at least she appeared coherent. Again Agent Leonhart found himself impressed by how Seifer handled the situation. He wasn't waving this off, making it look like the questions could be done later. He was allowing her time, but still spelled it out for her without adding any more stress. Hell, maybe the Chihuahua had a heart after all… or a way with people. That was a thought that sickened him - almost rivaling the fact that he'd addressed her as 'Rin.' Apparently, Squall missed the memo where protocol now dictated to give those being questioned nicknames.

Either way, Squall could guarantee that he'd never refer to this woman as anything other than Miss Heartilly; even agreeing to that had left a bad taste in his mouth.

By now, Rinoa knew there was no hope of hiding her nerves or her guilt, but not the guilt they'd ever believe. She didn't mean for that to happen, but just thinking about Zone, how they met, and how it ended – it was all so tragic. Agent Trepe offered her a sip of water, but Rinoa declined that also. Those were just diversions – her good ol' friend procrastination was rearing its familiar head. She wouldn't lose her focus; this was about discovering the truth. And at this point, Rinoa no longer cared about the kind of picture her words would paint.

This wasn't for them - it was for Zone and Watts. _Both_ of their lives mattered to her.

"I've known Zone for ten years. He gave me the means to leave Deling City; he gave me a place to start over, to reinvent myself. He cared about me. As far as what he did… I didn't put the clues together for a little while… around when I was nineteen? Maybe I didn't want to see it. So to answer your question – I knew he sold drugs for four years… give or take."

Rinoa could feel _it._

And before she knew what hit her, she channeled that inner emotion, taking the guilt and transforming it into anger. "I get it. I get what all three of you are thinking about me and Zone. You can judge me all you want, but you'll never understand. You know, some people gave up on me, and very few didn't – unfortunately, the person who believed in me the most, had also given up on himself. Who knows, maybe us losers of society deserved to be clumped together – or what, taken out in one blast? Yes, I knew what Zone did, but I've spent years trying to get him out of it… and it _was_ working, but then guess what…? Watts showed up and it was like he was pulled back in all over again."

Rinoa no longer held back, knowing these two agents had branded her. And while it had been Leonhart talking, she knew that Trepe shared those feelings as well. She might've seemed concerned and caring, but it was out of justice for their agent. The very agent whose last few words were a warning, one Rinoa wouldn't take lightly – especially sitting across from someone from the DEA.

Maybe it was about labels and the one they'd given her. Perhaps it was also that which gave her the courage to speak up to Agent Trepe.

"Agent Trepe, maybe it's time you guys should examine your entire system – because you _want_ people to fail. Watts was my friend, but yes, I resented his timing… but now I found out it wasn't even _his timing_. And knowing the truth makes it a hell of a lot worse. I won't say anything bad about him because he was just doing his job… but Watts gave his life today because he was following someone else's orders. See, Zone… he was _trying_ to get out, but I guess you guys couldn't let him. So when he started going to support groups, someone in your office enticed him, setting him up to fail. The DEA _needed_ him to relapse… you _needed_ him to lead you to the bigger fish. Zone was always expendable. I see now that I was too."

Quistis understood both her point and where her anger was coming from. Still, Rinoa had no idea about the time and preparation that went into any undercover mission and this one was no exception and when things went awry, people often lashed out at the closest target. Anger tended to be the easiest emotion to face in tragedy; she knew that Rinoa was simply cycling through the stages of grief. If she and her agency needed to serve as the scapegoat, she'd allow it.

Squall didn't know what to make of that information, but he would ask about it later. Quistis said she'd never met Zone, but that didn't mean she didn't know about his assignment. She had to have been extensively briefed or had working knowledge of the mission – if not they wouldn't have assigned her to any taskforce. For now, he needed to keep his attention on getting the truth out of Miss Heartilly.

"You stated you knew Zone ten years ago, but reconnected when you were seventeen. I'm trying to sort the details out here – then you moved in with him for approximately the last five years? Does this mean you two were romantically involved?"

"Really?" Seifer interjected, amazed how both of them acted like Rinoa was some lunatic preaching the end of the world and sprouting conspiracy theories about the zombie apocalypse. Seifer knew that she was right – the DEA had wanted someone bigger. Zone was expendable, Rinoa was basically collateral damage and these federal agents took no culpability for their part… And once more, the asshole was turning it back on her.

"Detective Almasy," Quistis began coolly, "Miss Heartilly will be given the opportunity to file a complaint, as will you against anyone she sees fit. We are trying to learn about her right now, not about the shortcomings of our agency."

"Oh, as I said earlier, someone _will_ hear about this. And just when I was starting to like you, you pull this shit."

"No. We weren't in a relationship." She couldn't help it, no matter how much she tried, it always came back to her and her part in this. She used the upper part of her shirt to wipe the tears away. "For the record, you can call me Rinoa Caraway… I don't want to hear my mother's name during this anymore. I won't. She's one of the good memories I have left, so I might as well be Rinoa Caraway for you people. Someone told me that a name doesn't define you, but they were wrong, it does…"

When she said that last line, she looked Agent Leonhart directly in the eyes. The way she almost looked through him, made him strangely uncomfortable, especially doing so while using his own words against him.

"Would you like to use this moment to clarify the nature of your relationship?" He wasn't about to let her slip him up. Seifer had managed to do that already.

"Yes, I would, very much. I met him at my house when I was younger. Ironically, he used to be military – just a grunt. You know one of those people that people like you don't ever bother to learn the name of."

Again, she'd been rather spot on. How many times a day did he have a similar thought?

"Let's just say that he helped me out during a family crisis. We did keep in contact, when I was able to. When I was old enough, well, you could say that I needed a change of scenery and he knew the situation better than anyone. I looked up to him... which maybe now seems a little naïve on my part, but you can't change how you feel. I think that's what the hardest part was because, in my mind, he'd always be the same guy I knew back then."

"Were you two romantically involved?"

"No."

"So you're wanting us to believe that at no time did you two engage in sexual relations?"

"Red flag!" Seifer held up a pencil as if its presence would halt the proceedings somehow.

"This isn't a sports game." Squall wondered how much trouble he'd get for jamming the pencil through the guy's skull. The tapes would certainly back up that it was a justified act of self-defense.

"Fine, then say it's a time out. Coffee break, cigarette break? Do-over, court's in recess… do any of those work?"

"No."

"Well, then I'll just be the guy that runs on the field and stops the game anyways – since you won't play nice and all. I'm just not sure why you're so interested between the relationship between Rinoa and the deceased. As a bystander, I gotta say you're coming off a tad freaky."

"Get the hell out as your presence here is no longer an option."

Quistis' eyes looked between the two men, although she bet they could both hold their own. Still, it felt like forever since she'd heard Squall speak like that. You could _feel_ his words — he'd always had that way about him — and it usually ended badly. Then again, this encounter had started badly, so this didn't come as any surprise to anyone.

"No, please, let him stay. I'll answer anything, _please_."

However, hearing Miss Heartilly pretty much beg for the detective to stay – that didn't come as a surprise to Quistis. Given their previous interaction, the plea made sense - not that it was her place to judge.

Rinoa had no idea what possessed her to ask, basically defying a direct order from Agent Leonhart. _That_ was something she had a fairly good inclination very few dared to do. If she'd been in her right mind, maybe she wouldn't have asked but today, nothing she did could be defined as being in her 'right mind.' Bad judgment or not, the detective seemed to actually care or at least had the backbone to stand up against Leonhart. Seifer seemed like he wanted to protect her, or at least acted as if it was something he was driven to do.

..And even if his caring was a lie, she needed to believe the illusion.

Agent Leonhart was more shocked by her request than angry; he'd expected feedback from Seifer, but not her. However, he could use it as leverage – pure and simple. It was quite apparent that the little princess had some kind of thing for the detective - opposites attract, beauty and the beast, or whatever. He'd never understand _that_ aspect of human relationships, emotions just complicated things and could be used against you… which became the basis of his new plan. With Seifer around, Rinoa would answer the questions – and that was Squall's ticket out of Timber.

"Stay," he instructed curtly.

"I'm not a fucking bulldog or something… and yeah, I'm staying and it's not because you told me to, it's because she asked me to. Don't get too proud of yourself."

" _Bulldog, don't flatter yourself,"_ Squall thought, but didn't want to ruin his chance of getting out of here.

It was Rinoa who spoke up, addressing the detective before continuing. "Seifer… I appreciate what you're doing, but it's okay. I don't know how…or why… but if the answer to this helps you find out who did this... then I have to answer."

"Credibility."

She heard Agent Leonhart say the word, but wasn't sure if it was a statement of an attempt answer to her question. She believed it may be the latter, as it made sense to some degree. Their relationship had raised eyebrows before, but nobody understood the bond. That was fine, because it was theirs to understand.

Clearing her throat, she sat up, not allowing him to get the upper hand. He'd already judged her, so what he believed seemed rather moot, but she wouldn't let it stop her telling the truth. "Yes, once, but it wasn't like that… it was stupid mistake about two years ago. It almost ruined our friendship. That's it, that one time and I've regretted it every day afterwards. You have to believe me."

Quistis and Squall exchanged brief looks and she knew it was because they didn't believe her answer for a second. But that didn't matter because it was the truth. It was a mistake that both immediately regretted. They both found a way to move past it, put it behind them, but she'd never lie about their relationship.

"It's irrelevant," Squall answered flatly, looking down at a notebook.

The question had been answered to his satisfaction, and if the prosecuting attorney wanted to pry into it further, that was his business. He certainly wasn't a relationship councilor – it was simply about establishing her credibility with both him and a jury. Now he had a baseline understanding of what they were dealing with or at least what she wanted them to believe. However, what was needed was her confession about what she knew about Watts' true identity – it again would serve as leverage. It would either place her firmly behind bars, or they could bargain down for testimony. But whichever it turned out to be, it would most definitely get the Chihuahua's little princess out of his hair.

"We need to address how you first discovered- " He abruptly stopped, noticing her arm had a trail of fresh blood pooling on the table. "Your arm is bleeding."

"Huh?" She looked down, momentarily becoming queasy at the sight. She wasn't squeamish about blood, well, she didn't _used_ to be. "Oh shit."

"I told you earlier, stop messing with it." Seifer rolled his eyes as he stood up, using his hand to gesture for her to stay. "Don't move."

Standing up, Squall grabbed a folder from the table, and then motioned Quistis to follow. Stepping into the hall and safely out of ear shot, he looked directly into her eyes, "Was she right? Was he trying to get out?"

"What?" Quistis seemed taken aback, momentarily unaware to what he was inferring. Then she mentally connected the dots between the DEA and Zone's surveillance. "Truthfully, that information would be something left out of any records. I wasn't familiar with the case, which is why they brought me in – for objectivity. All that aside, come on Squall - you know that's the first excuse in the book. They are always innocent, they were always going to come clean – it's been the same song and dance for decades. The lies never stop and neither does the finger pointing. Don't tell me you believe the suspect?"

"Witness." Squall had no idea why he, of all people, corrected her.

Quistis started to reply, but he put a hand up to silence her. He'd kept one eye on Quistis and the other on what was going on inside in the room. He'd noticed that Seifer had taken on the role of nursemaid, removing the bandage in its entirety. By this point, he'd already rolled up her t-shirt sleeve, and wrapped a towel around her arm to soak up the blood.

If his eyes weren't deceiving him… he walked into the room, trying to verify what he believed was actually the cut and what was just a coating of blood. By now he'd walked over to her, carefully looking at her.

"Who bandaged this arm?"

"…Um, a paramedic?" She blinked a few times looking up at him, aware her answer came off as a question. She'd ask why he'd ask, but doubted she'd get a response.

He contemplated things for a moment, before tossing the notebook onto the table. "I need to speak to Miss Heartilly privately."

Detective Almasy had been attending to Rinoa's wounds, but shot straight up after hearing that request. He seriously wasn't afraid of getting in this asshole's face or even clocking him if the occasion arose. With a few bold strides, he was in Leonhart's face, shattering the barriers of what was considered personal space.

"Yeah, that's going to be a _no_ … as in _no fucking way in hell_. Play it off all you want Fed, but we all heard your little sex questions earlier. No amount of tailored suits can hide the kind of pervert you are, Agent Leonhard."

"Actually, I'd say it's more like you have 'no' fucking choice, Almasy. Either I speak with her alone or I take her into federal custody and throw your ass in cell."

By now, Quistis had hurried back into the room to break it up… again. But this time there was no way to physically get in between them. Her only option was appealing to their logical side; of course, with the two big egos in the room, logic might as well have been a foreign concept. She placed a hand on Squall's bicep - it was more of an instinctual move than rational one. More than anyone, Quistis knew that it was _definitely_ far from a rational choice. He didn't even flinch, which in itself was telling. She had to say something to stop this lunacy – to the both of them. She didn't know Seifer, but she knew this wasn't Squall and he'd regret his decision. She wouldn't let him ruin his entire career with one foolhardy move but someone beat her to the punch.

"Please stop it. I can't-" Rinoa pleaded, closing her eyes. She honestly believed that this was going to end in blows and quite frankly…she just couldn't. Not today. "Seifer, it's fine. He's not as bad as he seems, really."

The detective contemplated his choices and no matter how satisfying it would be to punch the living shit out of this guy – as in very, _very_ satisfying, it would also be career suicide. Seifer could cross that line with the low-life-guilty-as-sin suspects but, no matter how many write-ups and suspensions he had, attacking a fed was something his seemingly bulletproof career wouldn't survive. Under it all, he did want to help people, even if it meant giving this jack off a pass.

In the end, there was no choice. It took a moment or two, but he looked over, taking several steps back. "Et tu, Rinoa? Damn, what does he have that I don't? Even Fed-Boy admitted he has a rather inadequate… file."


	7. So the Story Goes...

_ 5:47 pm, October 10th _

It appeared that Quistis and Seifer were about to find themselves on the other side of the door and certainly not by their own accord.

Rinoa tried not to let this new development get to her, but feeling abandoned was destined to take you back, no matter how different the circumstances were. It hadn't been much, but maybe she needed the false comfort of someone at least pretending to champion for her well-being.

Still, even as she sat here contemplating everything, she had no idea what Leonhart could want to speak to her about. Nothing had changed since the crime scene, and she still wasn't privy to any military-grade secrets, a list of undercover agents, or even information about aliens who abducted cows – nothing she knew even came close.

Oh, and the fact that Mr. Protocol Guy was asking to speak to her alone? Weird. She'd assumed their conversation in the jail cell had been a onetime deal. And when she added in his newfound fascination with her bloody arm?

She didn't believe it possible, but it made even less sense.

It were times like these she had to remind herself that she was doing the right thing, but doing the right thing was often the harder of two options. Back at the crime scene, she'd told Agent Leonhart that she _couldn't_ give answers. That held true more now than ever; a man used his dying words to protect her and that wasn't a gift to be taken lightly.

In all probability, the warning wasn't about Leonhart, Trepe, and Almasy specifically, but she also couldn't say that it _wasn't._ It might sound callous but, in the face of everything, Watts' last words now felt completely generic. That's where her problem lain; she was reading into things that possibly weren't even there – seeing things that weren't possibly there.

It was like going for a walk under the light of full moon and crossing through the cemetery just after midnight. Alone. And, as she passed each tombstone, she'd see the darkened shadows and, no matter how brief, she could see the haunting outline of a ghost in each one. But every time she looked again, it was just a tree branch moving in the wind.

That's how Rinoa felt - cold, alone and the only living person walking among the dead. Yes, most were only tree branches, but she'd been warned that there were also ghosts. No matter who believed her, it was up to her to decide which were which. Before the day was out, she had to make a final decision – who, if any, of this group could she truly trust.

As for Seifer and Quistis, they appeared to have their own agendas going on, especially the detective who's looked could only be defined as 'less than pleased.'

And Seifer was _not pleased_. Not at all.

Leaning against the doorframe, he stared at Leonhart in utter disgust. He didn't even try to cover his words as he grumbled to himself, something about 'not following plan' along with several crude expletives.

Originally, after Leonhart had the audacity to tell him to 'get the hell out of his own station' — paraphrased a tad with Seifer's artistic license — he was done playing nice. In fact, detective Almasy pictured himself standing dramatically from the table, saying his peace to Leonhart, and then storming off - becoming the hero for all the little grunts by standing up to _the man_. In Seifer's mind, it would rival some of his most impressive exits, which were only spoken of as legend among the more daring seasoned officers.

…However, somewhere in the midst of the standing and the telling off Leonhart phase – his plan took a sudden nosedive. It was difficult to admit that he cared this much. In fact, when Seifer finally returned to his desk, he planned to make an emergency call to the doctor's office and make an appointment; Seifer Almasy suddenly become extremely fearful that carnivorous earwigs had burrowed deep into his brain and messed around with its insides, re-wiring him so that he actually cared about Rinoa enough to allow his pride to take a backseat.

Then again, there were a few other positives. For example, messing around with Leonhart was entertaining enough to be considered a sport in many countries and then there was Leggy-Fed, speaking of which…

As Seifer waited for Quistis - _his fellow exiled brother-in-arms_ \- to gather her belongings, he wouldn't waste this opportunity to give Leonhart the evil eye. So the detective rested against the doorframe, making sure he openly seethed. Yes, this may have been anticlimactic, but if he wasn't going to tell him off and leave him in shock and awe, he'd at least make sure that Fed-Boy felt very, very uncomfortable. To emphasize his hatred of Leonhart and his latest asinine idea, he took an aggressive stance, folded his arms, clenched his jaw, and glared at him because nothing said 'hate' more than a malicious glare.

Well, that's how he believed any sensible person would interpret it, but knowing that 'Leonhard' only had one thing on his mind earlier, he'd probably construed this as some sort of come-on.

It was just his luck to be assigned to some suit who just reached puberty. Well, it was either that or the guy was a perv by nature – just another reason why leaving Rinoa alone with this ass-clown was very unsettling. The detective didn't think it was humanly possible, but with the agent's next statement, he became even more infuriated.

"Quistis, you can go ahead and take the recorder with you."

It was the smug flippant attitude that got under Seifer's skin the most; the jackass even removed his jacket as if this was some casual request of Sunday brunch.

Taking a step forward, Seifer made a slashing motion with his hand. "That's the line. It's _not_ happening."

Quistis had just finished putting her files back into order and although history had taught her it was best to stay out of the male peacocking, even she couldn't let this one go. "Squall, as much as it pains me to agree with Detective Almasy, he's right here. Don't be foolish."

Sauntering up to the female agent, Seifer smirked as he placed an arm around her shoulder. "See, _Squall_ , girlfriend over here agrees."

Quistis shrugged him off, rather brazenly at that. "Please, just stop that. He's not-"

"-going to listen? Yes, I will. You're right, it would be best to have the evidence." Squall cut her off, simultaneously derailing the other subject. He wished his old friend understood that sometimes it was easier to let an assumption rest rather than to make a production out of it. He'd just proven that twice within one sentence – and there was a fairly good chance neither of them had caught on.

…Or maybe not.

"Detective Almasy, can you please let me speak to Squall alone?"

"Fine, but he'd better not try anything in my house," he grumbled bitterly, "I'm serious."

Quistis continued to reassure him, all the while trying to usher him out the door. "He won't do anything. It's fine."

"Yeah, that's what all the girlfriends on the news say about their yutz boyfriend as he's being dragged away in cuffs… You know, right before the camera pans over to the yellow tape, blocking the scene of a triple homicide. But yeah, yeah cling to those delusions, sobbing to the camera, ' _But he was so quiet and kept to himself_ _and wouldn't hurt a Bite Bug_!' But not me 'cause I see the truth."

Before walking out, Seifer thought it best to issue one last warning. "Behave Leonhart or I'll kick your ass and you can keep that promise on the record."

Smiling politely, Quistis closed the door behind him. "Thank you for your concern, Detective Almasy."

After that, she turned back to Squall and her entire demeanor changed. She was no longer playing herself off as the polite and meek house cat, who timidly asked to speak to him. No, within pivoting 180 degrees, she'd transformed into an angry lioness, verbally ready to pounce on her prey. Her body language mirrored this change – from the overly-ridged posture, the folding of her arms, and the insistent tapping of her foot – they all worked as giveaways. If those weren't enough of a clue, the clenched jaw, knitted brow, and piercing look of angry-skepticism were easy tells. "Nice try, Leonhart."

However, Squall was not impressed. He walked back to sink area, grabbing some towels and began searching through the cupboards.

He didn't even bother turning to look at her, "I don't need the lecture Quistis. I said I'd keep the recorder on, I'll keep it on. What else do want from me?"

"How about _actually_ keeping it turned on?" she shot back, calling his bluff again.

For a moment, Rinoa had to wonder if they'd forgotten if she was in the room. It was like being in the center of a very uncomfortable marital spat. Holding the towel in place, she nonchalantly acted as if she was so focused on her arm, she couldn't bother paying attention to them. Of course, _she was_ as it was hard not to, plus all her earlier curiosity was really getting the best of her right now.

Quistis had now joined Agent Leonhart in the kitchenette area so Rinoa was able to take casual glances the couple. She'd always loved people-watching and discovering others' idiosyncrasies and, on that front, the way these two interacted was fascinating. Even now, it seemed they didn't use a lot of verbal communication, which just proved how perfectly they jelled together. She hated to admit, but Rinoa found herself jealous - to have someone know your actions and movements like that, to speak so soundly without words.

But it wasn't about that – about what she had or didn't have - and just having that thought felt entirely selfish. She had to remind herself that this was an outlet - no more, no less. So as she sat there, she continued to make a game of it and see what she could learn about the two agents.

The most obvious thing was their physical appearances. To state it bluntly, they were both gorgeous, an observation that she'd made much to her chagrin; it made her self-conscious, especially when she looked like walking hell. Here she was wearing a gigantic Moomba t-shirt, torn jeans, bandaged and scrapped - not to mention the dried blood in her hair - and they looked like they walked off of the pages of some high-profile magazine.

In her adolescent life, without question today had been her lowest low. She wasn't normally like this; she knew better than to compare herself but, when it rained, it flooded – maybe it was born of guilt, maybe it was a way to punish herself for simply surviving.

She had to stop this; it wasn't her – well, wasn't _exactly_ her. So she decided to channel her energy into something that seemed a tad less… shallow. She didn't want to think about how deceivingly-perfect they seemed. She didn't want to think about her friends (she _couldn't_ ). So she decided to keep her mind occupied with something a little more quantifiable and mentally calculating their heights seemed like a pretty harmless exercise.

With her heels on, Agent Trepe was easily his height. It gave them a sense of equality, which continued to play into the concept of being the perfect couple. Of course, as she heard her own thoughts, Rinoa knew there was no way she could avoid making that sound pathetic. Still, they were by far the most interesting thing in the room… that and she'd already memorized the fire-escape plan earlier.

So, going back to the subject at hand – Rinoa had stood around Quistis more, so she could use that as some sort of base. She then took in the height Quistis' heels, factoring in that Agent Leonhart's shoes had a little height too, and then, using outside factors as references, she believed that barefoot, he was maybe two, maybe three, inches taller than Quistis… Using those factors, she believed that Squall was about five or six inches taller than her, which for Rinoa seemed like the perfect difference in height… and what in Diablo's name was she doing?

It was official — she'd hit rock bottom.

And if rock bottom had a rock bottom, then she'd be the plankton on the underbelly of the ocean. She was doing math - on purpose… _for fun._ God help her, this truly was the beginning of her decent into madness. In the last few minutes, she was basically creating and working on her own mathematical story problem based entirely on two strangers. What was next – calculating the different speeds of trains arriving in Timber? Maybe long division? Or maybe even dividing by zero?

Not once in twenty-three years did Rinoa ever think about someone's height in comparison to her own. It had never been a big deal before because she'd never minded having to look up at others. However being looked down at – and not in physical sense – was another story.

She had _that_ feeling minutes ago; when all three of them had judged her simply by the company she had kept.

Over the years, Rinoa had grown used to the feeling - always smiling, laughing, and then shrugging it off. Today, she couldn't and being judged actually bothered her, and maybe it was because she no longer had an outlet. There was no laughing with Zone, no watching bad movies with her friend or having popcorn fights.

Shaking her head, again she knew she couldn't.

By now, they had stopped searching and had been whispering – or at least she had as he seemed to be listening, although not too intently. It appeared that Quistis became distracted and turned to look outside. Leonhart actually seemed to watch the other agent more when she wasn't looking at him. Once more, Rinoa found herself wondering what that would be like, to have someone steal glances and watch your every move.

Then again, that's what she was doing… okay, maybe technically it wasn't the same – same. The semantics didn't matter. If it was humanly possible, she felt even more pathetic with that realization and all she wanted to do was crawl in the nearest hole, curl up, and sleep until _anything_ remotely made sense again.

With a deep breath, she shifted in her seat so they were out of view and looked down at the table. She couldn't watch them any longer – her hobby had become bittersweet. The truth was that daydreaming or people-watching wasn't going to get her anywhere; she needed to think about what really mattered. Right now, she wasn't even sure if she had a future outside of jail and, if she did, would she find a new place to live? She couldn't go back to Deling, not that Caraway would take her back anyhow. The truth was she'd spent so much time trying to help Zone that it had masked the fact that she had nothing.

But these two, they appeared to have _everything_. No matter how clichéd or hackneyed it was to say – they had the world in their hands…and all Rinoa had would be handcuffs around hers.

"I'm serious, Squall. Please." Quistis finally spoke in a normal voice.

Rinoa could tell she was walking by the table but, as if it had been a secondary thought, she stopped. She was almost afraid to glance upward, only to discover that the female agent's attention was solely focused on her once she had. There was no way to put into words the awkwardness she felt as that whole _'do-this-or-you're-headed-directly-to-detention'_ instructor look hit her with full force.

"Miss Heartilly, make sure the cassette recorder stays on at all times. It's simply a precautionary measure to protect you."

Rinoa was extremely confused and didn't even bother restating that she'd rather go by Caraway now. It wasn't the first time they called her that since she'd made the request, but she was smart enough to wait for a more opportune time to remind them. So, she nodded, apparently agreeing to something. Honestly, Rinoa had never expected the recorder to be turned off but, then again, she hadn't expected Agent Leonhart to ask to speak with her privately either.

After the door closed, Squall waited, watching it like a hawk.

As for Squall, he knew that Quistis wouldn't walk back in, but he definitely couldn't say the same for the unleashed Chihuahua.

His next move wasn't his choice; in fact, it went against everything he'd preached since joining the bureau - as did much of what was coming next. Sometimes circumventing the rules was an unfortunate but necessary move – sometimes the people that made the rules had their own agenda. Again, he looked at the woman sitting at the table, sometimes this job came down to far more than what was written in any book.

He just hoped his superiors would agree…

Rinoa found herself staring at him. There was no more hiding behind a mask of indifference; she'd given up that ruse the moment Quistis left. Honestly, she would've looked guiltier if she tried to ignore him. There was a part of her that was strangely nervous about being alone with him. When he had been angry or yelling, she knew what to expect, but it was the times in between, the times like _these_ … when she saw something different, even if he tried to hide it. It was also these times when she was most caught off guard.

So she watched - _watched_ him as he _watched_ the door before walking over to it. He seemed to be contemplating something before ultimately reaching out and locking it.

As the click echoed throughout the room, for that brief second, her body shuttered at her childhood memories. Her reaction had been involuntary, something that she doubted would ever fade completely. Truthfully, she thought it had gotten better, but the fact that all the hair on her skin was currently standing on end proved that theory false.

By now, Agent Leonhart had returned, moving a few things to the corner of the table. She couldn't even look at him - funny how that changed with one simple sound. Not to mention, he'd seen her reaction and most likely read it as something else entirely – like maybe she was intimated by being in a room alone with him? Or perhaps he'd see fear? Guilt?

But intimidation wasn't it… Well, it wasn't _all_ of it.

Even Rinoa had to admit that the sound made her jump a little more than normal – a fact that could be corroborated by her increased anxiety and heartbeat. Worse yet, she that increased after hearing the sound of the chair slide across the floor as he it moved closer. She still couldn't make eye contact and 'conveniently' decided to examine her arm, going so far as readjusting the towel. And while yes, the wound was painful, it was currently serving as a hopefully-convincing diversionary tactic.

As he finally decided to take a seat, she became even more vastly aware of how close he really was. How much longer she could stare at one brown kitchen towel suddenly turned into the question of the day. Her only consolation was that the towel was dark enough so the blood wasn't as noticeable, if it had been white, she would've been sick by now.

There was also another troublesome realization, one that hit her _much_ harder than expected. Be it her proximity or nerves, it seemed that her senses were placed on high-alert or maybe it came down to the simple fact she was overly aware – _acutely_ aware even. They'd never been _this_ close for _this_ period of time. She vaguely recalled throwing her arms around him on the back of the ambulance but, maybe he wouldn't remember that or maybe it was something that was a daily occurrence in his line of duty.

…Yeah, right.

Sitting here, she could smell the musky scent of his cologne. Bar none, the woodsy smell of warm spice and cedar had been the most amazing thing she smelled the entire day, maybe even her entire life. Ignoring that thought, or at least desperately trying to, she saw him shift his position from her peripheral vision. From there, he reached across the table and grabbed the tape recorder. And after all the fuss Trepe and Almasy had made over it, curiosity got the better of her and she had to look up.

With two clicks of the buttons, she saw that not only had he stopped it, but he'd also ejected the tape. Then there was that awkward moment where she realized that she'd watched too many television shows because _this_ was usually the point in the story where the rogue police officer usually threatened the suspect or beat them to a bloody pulp for a confession. Maybe if she tried polite conversation, he'd forgo either of those two options.

"You turned it off." Okay, even she knew it was a rather obvious statement, but it was better than, _'please don't hurt me, I have dog to take care of.'_

"Playing well with others was something I never quite got." He shrugged, not hiding the fact he'd placed the tape in his pocket. "Just be happy that the government is about three decades behind and hasn't gone digital yet. Unfortunately, this means that misplacing evidence sometimes… _happens_."

"I don't-" She bit her lip, looking at him nervously. This really is where it goes bad on television. "Um, I mean, why did it happen?"

He continued to stare at her, reading into her obvious confusion. Not only did he read it, he could actually understand it and, for once, he wished he could stand behind his actions with a hundred percent confidence. He couldn't. But he had to believe – no harm, no foul - because just like 'shit happens,' in this rare case, it could still 'un-happen' if needed. For now, he needed to clarify a few things before he could decide his next move.

He also didn't bother offering an explanation to her question; his reasons were his own – at least for now. First things first, he reached up and loosened his tie before slipping it off completely. As he added it to the growing collection in his jacket pocket, he looked back over to her and issued a single command.

"Let me see your arm."

Rinoa looked between him and the blood-stained towel. Honestly, she had no idea why she was so hesitant. Still, there was something, well, she couldn't put into words. She found herself nervously sucking on her bottom lip as she stretched her arm out. To make the situation even more unbearable, he moved his chair a tad closer. She went to being uncomfortably close to him to being excruciatingly close to him. Not that he even noticed, or cared, or even gave one iota about her – this was just her arm.

"It would make it easier for me to treat the wound if you'd actually let go of the towel wrapped around it."

"Heh." A high-pitched nervous laugh slipped out, to which she immediately changed from sucking to biting her lip at an attempt at silence. True to form, she'd applied too much pressure and emitted a very faint yelp.

She casually tried to play it off in a vain attempt to salvage some dignity. Letting go of the towel, she allowed him to take over. Agent Leonhart seemed to be one of those types who seemed to be quite knowledgeable about everything. For now, this cosmically balanced things out, because she currently felt utterly clueless about everything.

She also had to remind herself that, in her world, over thinking often translated into trouble. Attempting to clear her thoughts, she took a cleansing breath. Not smart. Instead of her mind becoming a blank slate, her mind was bombarded with the smell of his cologne. Sitting up, she nonchalantly tried pressing her luck by stealing another whiff, but it never went quite that easy. After breathing too hard, she had to cover her mouth before turning her head and going into a small coughing fit.

"All right?"

"Yeah, sorry… just forgot how to breathe."

Forgot how to breathe? It was official – right before his eyes, she'd magically transformed into the world's largest, first-class dork.

"Hm." He never looked up as he continued to study her arm. "You need to relax."

Any trace of malice in his voice had disappeared, which made the situation even more awkward. Before, she could write his actions off or remarks as cynicism, but it was a little harder to dismiss it when he was taking care of her. Although what he was doing seemed odd, namely the fact he had only been studying her arm rather than actually touching it.

She would definitely say this man was… interesting.

And although she knew she was staring, it didn't hit her fully until he looked up and caught her red-handed. She started to open her mouth to utter some pathetic excuse for an apology, but he apparently he couldn't care less. Instead, he reached for her arm.

To his surprise, she visibly winced as he touched it. "Did that hurt?"

"…No." she mumbled. That part didn't, but she couldn't admit that her reaction was from his touching her. "Just startled. That's all."

Rinoa believed that he'd have to be world's worst special agent if he actually bought that excuse. Even Angelo could've sniffed that one out miles away.

Thankfully, he seemed to be buying it, or it was more likely that he had bigger things on his mind rather than her obvious fascination. She found herself too intimidated to ask, not that he'd answer her even if she did. Still, Rinoa remained at a loss as to why he cleared the room over her bloody arm. Yes, it was bad, but he'd obviously had to have seen much worse during his tenure. Also the fact that he stared at for a few minutes was rather… peculiar.

"This needed to be stitched."

"This day gets better and better." She finally gave up the perfect posture bit, slumping back into her chair. "I was told it didn't."

"Yeah."

"It's not a big of deal, really. I'm not scared of needles. Okay… I'm not _fond_ of needles, but I'm not scared."

"It's a hunch." Again, his reaction didn't seem to fit the situation; she'd actually began to wonder if there were two separate conversations going on here.

"….A hunch that involves needles?"

He looked at her for a moment, blinking in confusion. He'd let go of her arm as he reached over to the items he'd piled at the edge of the table. She watched as he started rooting through a first aid kit.

She tensed. "Wait, wait, wait... no, no, no, you're not going to? I mean, not here?" she barely could choke out the words, "That's just wrong to do this like in the middle of the break room or something, right? Because… if so, I think I just became a lot less fond of needles."

"No. I said it needed to be stitched."

He then proceeded to clean the wound; she tried not to look, feeling extremely queasy at the sight. As she turned away, he continued to take care of the arm and at this point she didn't care what he did, as long as she wasn't forced to look. There was no doubt that it was painful, but it was still tolerable. She did her best not to let it show, clenching her teeth and acting as if this was as simple as a walk in the park.

"See this? This laceration is extremely deep, down to the subcutaneous tissue. The dressing you had was put on before it was adequately cleaned. That's most likely why it's been bothering you."

"Ah, uh huh," she mumbled with her head still turned. He could've been speaking a dialect from ancient Centra and it wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference.

"Um… okay? So, I'm headed to a doctor or something?"

He continued to mess around until she felt cold liquid being poured on the wound. It felt odd more than burned, but she still wasn't comfortable enough to look.

"What happened earlier? I need you to tell me everything; I didn't want the others to hear."

"You believe me?"

It really wasn't directed at her, more of a partial nod towards her arm. "I believe Watts. He told you for a reason."

She took in a deep breath, unsure of what parallel universe she'd just landed in. "I'm so lost."

"I know." He realized how that could be taken negatively, but didn't have the time or the will to explain. "Listen, I need to know what happened specifically with your arm. Who bandaged it?"

"A paramedic?" she answered cautiously, still waiting for reality to return.

He was doing his best not to lose his patience. "Close your eyes. Go back to the scene. Think of the sights and sounds. Remember the words."

God, she didn't want to… but this was her chance to be heard; the chance for Watts and Zone to be heard - maybe their _only_ chance. Rinoa couldn't be selfish, she had to take it. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and the fact that he was still touching her arm became even more apparent. In this moment, Squall Leonhart had become her saving grace. She wouldn't ever tell him that but, for some reason, having him close made her feel like she could fight - even if she was only fighting memories.

"…It's all very fuzzy. I remember bits and pieces… After I'd talked to Watts…and he was, well, you know. I don't – don't remember. Maybe I laid down or passed out or something, but the paramedic was there when I came to… Oh and there was another guy in a red shirt. He'd been walking by or something, but was helping. I remember telling them to ignore me and worry about the others because maybe, I hoped that… well, I just hoped for Watts. Zone was… everywhere. He couldn't be saved, he couldn't be-"

"Don't. That won't help them. Focus on the men. What did they do?" Squall continued holding the clean cloth to her arm. There was no doubt this woman was telling the truth, but there was clearly a struggle going on within herself.

"The guys, they were… Wait, I remember the man in the red shirt listened and went to check on Watts, but the paramedic insisted on helping me. He kept talking to me to calm me down, telling me it was going to be all right. He grabbed something from his bag… it was a bandage. He bandaged it and asked I could walk back to the ambulance… I remember saying okay. I just wanted to get away. Then the other guy came back and had me stay. They were arguing about if I should walk… Then I remember being tired and felt like I was going to throw up, but then… nothing."

"Nothing?" he continued to softly prod. She shook her head, but it didn't matter, he had enough. "It's all right, go ahead and open your eyes."

"Wow, I hadn't even thought about any of that before. Anyway…the next time I woke up, I was at the back of the ambulance. The one you found me at."

He looked at discarded pile of bandages on the table. "You refused further medical treatment at the scene. Not smart."

"Yes, I… never mind. No excuses, I was stupid." There was no use in denying it; the truth was impossible to miss. "I can even hear Zone mentally lecturing me for being so stubborn, but I couldn't go… I had to stay."

"Couldn't? Just like you _couldn't_ answer my questions back at the scene?"

Bowing her head, she looked down at the table. A few minutes ago, he seemed so caring, but she was reading too much into things that weren't there again. His concern was solely about information; she would always be a means to the end. "You wouldn't understand."

"Miss Heartilly, you haven't given me a chance."

"I thought I said to call me Caraway."

"You did, but turns out you're not the only one that can be stubborn - tends to happen when someone uses my words against me."

She looked back up and for a brief second, she could've sworn she saw the thinnest flash of amusement.

"Agent Leonhart, I… I don't understand what you're saying."

"I've given you no reason to trust me so far. But this isn't about us; it's about getting justice for your friends. I need you to tell me _exactly_ what Watts said. Anything you say remains off the record, no tapes, no witnesses – I promise it'll be just us."

Squall didn't make promises.

In fact, until today, he'd never made one to a witness. Then again, the only ones he'd ever made to suspects usually involved how many broken bones they'd have or how long they'd end up behind bars. He'd always follow the rules the FBI set for him.

But sometimes the rules were meant to be broken – and sometimes the people that made the rules had their own agenda.

99.99% of the time, the claims of corruption in law enforcement were false, but Squall had a gut feeling that he'd just found that .01% and that Rinoa Heartilly was never meant to make it out of the blast alive.


	8. A New Chapter Begins...

_ 6:01 pm, October 10th _

Earlier, Rinoa knew it would come down to this, come down to finding someone to trust. It was inevitable but, too many times people trusted the wrong person. They didn't ask the obvious questions, they didn't read the obvious signs.

To that extreme, Agent Leonhart could be wearing a boldly-lettered sign that read 'don't trust me' and she'd still want to give him a chance. True, if she was speaking about a literal sign and not a figurative one, there was about a 90% chance that Almasy would've been the one who taped it on his back.

Still, her point stood. Most logical people would run the other way, but Rinoa also didn't want to be one of _those_ people either. Sometimes a sign wasn't what it appeared to be, it was simply printed words that others _wanted_ her to believe. She didn't want to be that naïve either - judging someone because of hearsay, dismissing someone without any true cause.

That's how she felt earlier. She remembered Squall's expression when he found out that she knew the truth about Zone, seeing the flash of disappointment in his eyes. Just within their few hours together, Rinoa had noticed that even without speaking, he had a way of expressing himself.

And that's what led Rinoa to believe that she'd been judged on her relationship with Zone. Thinking back, something about their earlier exchange nagged at her; maybe she had projected her own feelings into it. And maybe, just maybe, she was the one who'd judged him.

The truth was, she wanted to trust this man, but trust wasn't based on an errant whiff of his cologne or the fact he had the most amazing eyes. Yeah, she wasn't going to over think _that_ because it felt like a rather loaded question. Not to mention that he held all the authority and she was relatively helpless in that regard. Okay, not completely. If she'd felt too uncomfortable being alone with him, Seifer would've backed her up one hundred percent. Yet, she wanted to believe this man, he wasn't from Timber after all, but she also didn't want to end up being the fool… worse yet, a dead fool. It wasn't as if she could demand some kind of proof that he could be trusted; life didn't exactly work on cue like that.

…But that would've been a nifty little ability - being able to know if someone was trustworthy from the start. It would've saved her from _several_ bad dates.

"Agent Leonhart, are you sure you're from Deling City?"

…Really?

_That_ was the question she came up with? Somehow, it sounded _sooo_ much different in her head. Along with the ability to know who to trust, she wished life came equipped with a do-over option… that title of 'fool' was getting closer by the word.

Unfortunately, Squall had to agree with her.

In all his years, he could easily say that was the oddest thing he's ever been asked – and this was coming from a man who, while in a Dollet bar, was hit on by a man dressed as a woman. _Twice._ So, instead of responding to Miss Heartilly with the first response that came to mind, which bordered on inappropriate, he allowed himself a few seconds to process things. He believed there had to be a motive behind her question. It boiled down to trust, or rather _lack of_ , with Timber's authorities. He couldn't fault her for being cautious, if anything, he respected it.

Yes, he'd admit that her method was… _unusual_ , but it was also direct, which was the aspect he could respect. To be fair, he would admit that his 'friend' in the bar had also been _extremely_ direct, but with Miss Heartilly, he found the trait refreshing and whether she knew it or not, sometimes her seemingly-rhetorical or silly questions helped humanize her. She also didn't seem to worry about what he thought…at least on certain things. She definitely wasn't afraid to not hold back and speak her mind when called for – like when she'd used his own words against him. He couldn't quite figure her out. Truthfully, he found that she was … Well, for continuity's sake, he'd stick with his earlier description - she was 'unusual.'

Although, being _unusual_ typically didn't bode well for people in Squall's general vicinity. Patience with others wasn't a virtue normally associated with Squall Leonhart – a lesson his former partner would easily attest to. Thankfully, Cid Kramer received the message after the semi-legendary 'Dollet incident' and no longer bothered to assign him partners.

Still, no matter how many times she nervously glanced up, no matter how 'unusual' he thought that she was, he knew that she'd turn out no different. She wanted something and although he may have appreciated her directness, that didn't mean he owed her anything.

Suddenly, he became acutely aware of how distrustful he'd grown over the years. His cynicism wasn't anything new, between his years from Garden to the FBI, he was convinced that everyone wanted something – from him, from the government, from everyone. In Rinoa Heartilly's case, _maybe_ the only thing she wanted at this moment was an answer, but it remained to be seen.

This was more than a potential power shift. If his hunch was anywhere near correct, she was going to need protection. The FBI would need her too if she had information, even if it was locked somewhere inside. Squall realized that it mutually-beneficial to him to gain her trust too. This also solidified his point – Rinoa Heartilly needed something from him, just like the authorities needed something from her. Squall had become their means to an end. It didn't matter who you were, everyone wanted something.

He had to push those thoughts out of his mind; this was a job, nothing more. This could've gone so many ways, but he decided to follow her earlier lead, taking the direct approach.

Reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed his wallet. The agent could honestly say that he'd never been asked to produce _this_ identification while on assignment. Fine, technically she didn't 'ask' either, but she wanted proof, right? He still had no idea what possessed him to do this. It would have been so much simpler to simply say, "Yes, I'm from Deling City" and then leave it there.

Little did he know _that_ specific question was the one that he'd be asking himself over the upcoming days, weeks, and even months. And, in all that time, he would never come up with a concrete answer – at least one that made sense to him. Heartilly seemed cunning, already trapping him in his comments about names. It was no stretch of the imagination to see her perceiving any indecision as a form of weakness, even if she'd completely misread him. He hated when people read him, or _attempted_ to read him. In over sixteen years, Quistis still hadn't quite grasped this concept.

So he opened his wallet, handing the entire thing over to a virtual stranger (…also a witness or suspect, _depending_ ) and even if he didn't show it, he chided himself for his actions. He knew so much better than this.

It took far too long for Rinoa to realize what he was doing but, when the light bulb suddenly turned on, she was in shock. It wasn't often that a stranger handed her their wallet. Okay, it wasn't 'often' it was 'never,' because things like this just didn't happen in real-life. Then add in the fact that stranger was a federal agent and was, well, he was _him_. The situation seemed bizarre or was possibly a trap. One of the two. Honestly, after she asked about being from Deling City, she didn't really expect an answer, or at least one that didn't involve profanity.

As a matter of record, she also realized that she _probably_ should've waved off the gesture, trying to build trust and all… Then again, she should've done a lot of things differently. This boiled down to another case of being too curious for her own damn good. Plus, wasn't it considered rude in certain cultures not to accept a peace offering?

Okay, _that_ was a stretch, but she wasn't about to sit here and quibble semantics.

Rinoa eyed him skeptically as she reached out with her good arm to take the wallet. She took a few breaths as she scolded herself. She knew better… but this was getting a personal glimpse of Agent Leonhart. The guy seemed private to a fault, so maybe that's why touching his personal property felt like a federal offense, but damn it.

The most obvious thing she noticed was that his wallet was leather, _good_ leather.

She held it a normal distance from her face but, even from here, the refined scent tickled her nose. As she'd matured, her description of the smell had grown into something contradictory; it was the essence of both rugged and refined. She continued studying it, learning all she could about this particular piece of rectangular leather now residing her hand. The stitching was immaculate and the lining looked like silk, although she didn't reach in to feel it – she had to demonstrate some restraint.

The right side consisted of several credit card slots lined in a row; three were gold, but the others she couldn't be identified by sight. The left was taken up entirely by his driver's license. However, one thing stood out, was what was missing in between - his lack of pictures – family, friends… girlfriend? Quistis? Honestly, though she couldn't say how common that was among men. Zone carried a few, but she knew that it would be silly to base an entire gender on one friend.

She involuntarily flinched as that memory resurfaced – it felt so mundane, but something she'd taken for granted. Rinoa wished that she'd thought about it before it had become past tense; she wished it was still possible to say 'thank you' for all those seemingly-insignificant things… like pictures in a wallet.

Like the one of them on the rollercoaster at an amusement park. Of course, she looked absolutely hideous in it, caught in mid-scream, but he never cared. The one that tugged at her heart the most was a picture he carried of Angelo. For awhile, she went through this phase of wanting to be a photographer and had taken a picture of her four-legged friend bounding through a flower field. Maybe Zone carried them just to appease her, but Rinoa believed it was the small gestures that made both friendships and relationships. But that's the kind of person he was underneath it all. No matter what others believed, he would always be special.

Rinoa couldn't breakdown. Not now. Not when she was so close to having someone actually believe her. But willing herself just wasn't enough as she felt the familiar sting of tears gathering in her eyes.

Shying away, she did her best to wipe away the evidence when it first started trailing down her cheeks, while simultaneously trying to contain herself. Looking back to the wallet, everything became overshadowed by her trembling hands. She couldn't say if it stemmed from the memories or just giving into the mental exhaustion. Either way, she forced herself to play it off as all her energy was placed into verifying his information. Like the tables had somehow been turned and now it was _his character_ being placed into doubt.

She opened her mouth to speak, but it came out as a weak gasp. No. She wasn't going to allow this. She wasn't going to look weak – _to be weak_ – forget the battle waging inside, she had two very important reasons to remain strong.

That's why she channeled all her attention onto his driver's license. Even a quick glance was telling. First-and-foremost, it _was_ issued from Deling City. Cosmetically, the cards had only undergone minor alterations in the six-plus years she'd been away. Her homeland tended to be as rigid as the man in front of her.

Actually, that was an amusing comparison as there were definitely correlations between the two. Deling City was a land dominated by rules and regulations, where change only happened if it was necessary or, in other words, it was Leonhart's inflexible utopia.

No matter how random the thought was, it made her smile. True, her perspective on the subject was probably skewed, but it helped her mindset. For some reason, it also reminded her that Agent Leonhart had an entire dossier on her. The truth was that she could deduce a lot about him from his wallet and given that he knew about her, it seemed only fair.

…But importantly, he did make the offer.

"So Squall James Leonhart, is this some quid pro quo? You think that by showing me your wallet that we're somehow we're on an equal playing field?"

"That's _Agent Leonhart_ to you," he corrected, his words sounded harsher than he'd intended, "And I never said anything about being on an even playing field, even you know that's not possible. This is about building a small degree of trust. It's also all you'll ever know about me, take it or leave it."

"You know, because I don't feel like destroying that 'small degree of trust,' I'm going to pretend that your playing field comment wasn't meant to sound so rude."

Since he had openly admitted to being stubborn, ignoring her preference about using Heartilly or Caraway, she decided to do the same. Even though he'd just verbally scolded her about his using his correct name, she purposely decided to omit the 'agent' part. Of course, she knew he'd notice but, therein laid its charm.

"Mr. Leonhart, I see you live in an apartment. …Expected."

"Why exactly?" Squall had no idea why he was playing along, but hearing her assumptions actually helped him understand the process of her mind. At least, that's the reason he would eventually sell himself on later…

On the other hand, Rinoa wanted to cheer at her minor victory, but she showed restraint. It was interesting… he seemed more curious about her observation and didn't bother to correct her on his name…again. Then it hit her, she actually wanted to impress him. It wasn't about winning minor victories; it was about not being seen as some helpless girl that he'd look down on. Knowing she had his full attention, she continued to speak, mirroring his earlier no-nonsense attitude.

"Logic dictates your long work hours keep you from owning a home. A house requires time and a degree of commitment for even simple repairs… plus you don't appear to be the mow-the-grass-type-of guy. That also rules out pets and even high-maintenance plants. If anything, I'd venture to say you _may_ own a cactus. Actually, you'd be far more likely to have something like fish or plants in your office – statistically, that's most likely where you spend a majority of your time and possibly some sort of custodial service."

Her eyes remained plastered on the wallet, enjoying her newfound hobby. "Let's see, next - your license states that you're five foot ten… which I'm thinking is a little off. But hey, I won't judge. I know a lot of women who aren't exactly truthful about their weight, maybe it's a guy thing to exaggerate by adding an inch or two."

In her attempt to sound as confident as him, she misspoke – _badly._

She had to clarify. Now. The last thing she wanted to imply was that he would… well, lie about _that._

How did she even end up on _that_ subject and why was she freaking out? Unfortunately, the concept of 'letting things rest' was hit-or-miss and today she'd landed squarely on the 'miss' category.

"Ahhh, I was meaning as in exaggerating about your height... you know, by adding a few inches or maybe wearing heels or something to make you look taller. Not heels-heels, just, you know, a heel. Because I totally know you wouldn't wear _heels_."

The word 'heel' had suddenly lost all meaning and if she said 'you know' one more time, he'd probably start to suspect that she was a thirteen year old from southern Galbadia. And to top off spewing verbal nonsense, she'd ended that by emitting a rather high-pitched squeak. The culprit was most likely a hybrid between a laugh and a very unfortunate hiccup. Why she was continuing to explain herself would forever remain one of life's greatest mysteries.

"…And I have no idea why I'm trying to do anything, because what I was talking about was pretty obvious. I mean, it's like height would be the only one of those two measurements on your license and… Oh my god, Rinoa shut up!" This was bad. Bad enough that she'd both referred and reprimanded herself in third person. She couldn't even look at him and was fairly certain that it was a shared sentiment.

If there was a positive to this one-sided exchange of immense stupidity, it's that it wouldn't be immortalized on tape. _This_ type of thing happened sometimes, usually if she got too close to a subject or was passionate about something to the point of getting carried away. She needed to step back or she'd start speaking in a pitch that only Angelo could understand.

So that's what she did, allowing herself a few seconds as she gathered her wits. "I'm so, so sorry Agent Leonhart. I hope that my outburst wasn't offensive, becoming tongue-tied is a habit I've had for some time when I get ahead of myself… slight mental hang-up, that's all. See, earlier I decided to calculate how tall you were. However, I noticed that your license had a slightly different answer. Of course, it's obviously my estimate that was wrong. Actually, come to think about it, I was only off an inch. Not bad."

"…Miss Heartilly," he began cautiously, his words even more precise than normal, "may I ask if there was a particular reason _why_ you were calculating my height?"

Rinoa was utterly dumbfounded. If it was physically possible, she felt the color draining from her face. It was her own fault. She'd been caught red-handed after her slip-up dawned on her. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she did something that neither of them would've expected – _she smiled_.

Why? Because that's who she'd always been. Rinoa couldn't help it if Agent Leonhart would interpret this as condescending, taunting, or sneaky… Honestly, she'd never claim that she or her reactions made sense. Caraway made sure she was acutely aware of her shortcomings, this included.

That prodded her into making a decision. Instead of running from the statement, she'd continue to own up to it. To Caraway's credit - that was another life lesson he'd taught her, one of the few that she'd come to appreciate.

Her mouth was dry, but she found a way to push through it. Pressing her lips together, she moistened them before continuing. "The simple answer? Yes. I was calculating your height. And yes, there was a reason… not saying it's a _good_ one, but it's the one I have. When I was waiting on you and Agent Trepe, I was trying to keep my mind off of… well _life_."

Taking in a quick shallow breath, she was surprised to find that she'd begun to relax. Talking to Agent Leonhart was considerably easier when she wasn't hung-up on every syllable that came out of her mouth. With that, another faint smile found its way onto her lips.

"I'll even admit that sounds a little dramatic. But I was trying to keep my mind off life, my life, my friends' lives… Honestly, growing up, I spent the majority of my time alone. To pass the time, I'd come up with random little games and I guess I'd momentarily reverted back to my childhood. So when you and Quistis were standing side-by-side, I sorta estimated how tall you were. Oh, I probably should clarify that it wasn't just you, it was the both of you."

That part wasn't a lie. However, she'd conveniently omitted a certain part. The part where she'd come to the conclusion that she and him had the perfect size difference… instead of him and Quistis. To admit _that_ would've come off as a little obsessive. Or desperate. Or both.

Then again, maybe Leonhart already thought she'd reached that awkward level of creepy and found this no surprise. That was a possibility because he wasn't responding.

Sitting back, he folded his arms and continued to look at her. She couldn't be sure if he was sizing her up as a suspect or contemplating how it was physically possible for her foot to reach her mouth with such ease – an achievement that one could only describe as a modern-day scientific mystery.

Still, his silence had a way of speaking louder than most people's words. It made her nervous; _he_ made her nervous, but she quickly reminded herself that sort of came along with his job description. He had that whole intimidation factor down in spades. She hadn't even touched on the fact that he was wearing a shoulder holster with his service weapon.

Being the daughter of a Galbadian officer, she'd grown up around weapons. By _sight_ , they didn't bother her much. By _touch_ , well, that was an entirely-different story. Maybe there was also a certain degree of intrigue because she'd never seen one worn up-close. Maybe the fascination was simply because it was something 'new' or maybe it had something to do with the wearer. Because somehow, it added definition to his entire upper body and…

What was she thinking?

…Again?

She needed out of here. Her mind was trying so hard to erase some parts of today that it was quickly filling the space with other thoughts entirely. Then there was the mystery surrounding the cleared room. Apparently, cleaning her wound, opening his wallet, and then awkwardly staring at her had suddenly become a matter of national security. Then again, it might've been nothing more than a psychological ruse designed to mess with Almasy.

Clearing her throat, she sort of realized that she was still holding his personal property. Maybe that was why he was staring, to see how long it'd take her to actually remember.

"I was wondering if you forgot or were planning on stealing it. I'm guessing by your reaction that it was the former."

"I didn't forget… I was just going for dramatic effect, that's all," she shot back, although why she being snippy with him, she couldn't say. She just hated to be called out, especially when he was right.

"Of course." He nodded, his arms still folded. Damn, he did have this intimidation thing down to a T.

Clearing her throat, she refused to let him get to her. She'd impress him with her reasoning yet – another thought that she refused to overanalyze. And just out of spite, she'd omit the 'agent' yet again.

"Mr. Leonhart, another thing that stands out on your license as something expected is that you checked the organ donor box. Over the last few years, the Galbadian government has had a rather full-scale advertising push. Still, putting that campaign aside, there's something about you… Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think you're the meanie that you want others to believe. I also truly think-"

"Hold up," he interrupted her in mid-sentence. He should've let it ago, especially compared to the colorful vocabulary he received almost daily, but this was so deluded that it somehow had become offensive in its own unique way. "I want to verify that my hearing is, in fact, working. Did you just call a federal agent, quote-unquote – _a meanie_?"

"Yes, yes I did."

"Well, I'll try not to take that the wrong way," he replied, mocking her earlier concern.

Without thinking, she moved the wallet to rest on her face; it wasn't intentional, but she became hyper-aware of the action the moment she did it. If he thought the leather was soft in her hands, no words could describe what it felt like on her bare skin, nor the intense smell. She tried to remain focused, but found that it was an increasingly-difficult task. She'd blame her distraction on him as it was his wallet - hence it was his fault, however indirectly.

"Perfect, you interrupted me and made me forget what I was going to say. It was going to be something about your personality. I don't know what painkillers I'm on, but I was going to say you're not as bad as you seem, but now I'm totally rethinking that."

She had to move the wallet away as it was a distraction and he was distracting enough already; it also gave her something to focus her attention on. Honestly, she didn't want to make eye contact at the moment.

He wasn't the type to let it rest, so she started again begrudgingly, "Fine. I'll say it. I think that you're very selective about friends, but you'll do anything for the ones you have … and that's why I said being a donor was not unexpected. I'd imagine it goes beyond that and if someone needed it, you'd donate whatever organ you could. It's not hard, but you come across all stiff and ridged-"

She stopped midsentence as a deep blush crept onto her face. Biting the inside of her cheek – the secondary meaning of what she said had hit her at the speed of a charging Ruby Dragon hyped up on caffeine; she definitely now was that thirteen year old girl from Southern Galbadia. Replaying what she'd said, she whispered the next under her breath. "Oh wow, that sounds so wrong… so very, very wrong."

Yes, when she was nervous, she'd say random things, but this was… unbelievably out of character. She really, really needed to look into those painkillers if it reduced her to schoolgirl slumber party joke fodder. The only logical reason for any of this was the residual effects of the medication and that stupid 'inches' comment that she mentally couldn't shake.

Furrowing his brow, Squall was unsure of what had happened. It took him more than a few seconds to make the correlation. Honestly, it was her physical reaction that linked the two. No particular words stood out, but something did – the blush in her cheeks. The reaction had been identical to when she commented about his height. He remembered that mainly because she came across so… well, so _something_. It wasn't his job to fill in the blank.

As for what she'd said, he had to think back and again, she believed that she'd implied something that she hadn't. From a psychological level, he understood as her earlier misstep had affected her deeply. She'd been so embarrassed, that she'd allowed the mistake to be planted in her psyche, unfortunately, it had now taken root. Suddenly, she over thought and believed everything had a secondary meaning. Truthfully, if she wasn't so nervous and determined to prove that she wasn't nervous, she'd probably relax – either ignoring it or laughing it off.

His expression remained neutral. "Done?"

She shook her head. He knew that she was defeated and embarrassed. Until she found a way to move beyond – it was going to be a hang up. He wondered if this was a side-effect for being around Detective Almasy; the guy should come with a plethora of warning labels.

"Are you sure?"

"I can't… you win. All right." So much for trying to impress him - all she'd done was fail. She didn't know why it was so important, but it didn't matter. She'd had a momentary goal that was now whisked away from her. Unfortunately, any chance of him believing her probably went with it.

"It's not about winning, Mrs. Heartilly. Nobody wins here. I was simply trying to get a read on you. And it's interesting how earlier you stood up for both yourself and Zone. Yet, you fell apart over a juvenile mistake that we both know wasn't meant like that. You're allowing it to get to you – _don't._ " Although unwarranted, maybe offering advice this was side-effect from being around Quistis. Heartilly would take it as either helpful or offensive, he didn't much care which.

His words also served as another purpose - a diversionary tactic. Some of her observations were too close; it was safer for him to turn the focus back onto her. She was good, he'd give her that. It made the question of why she hung around Zone an even bigger question. He could ask, giving her another direct and unexpected subject, but he knew that he would need it on tape… either that or he wanted to believe in her just a little bit longer. If this was going down like he thought, he had to.

Once more, she felt the tears welling up, but did her best to hold them back. "Some things are worth defending, Zone was one of them… no he is one of them."

Her expression softened as she placed his wallet on the table. She knew that she should've waved the gesture off from the beginning and now there was a pang of guilt deep in her stomach. Agent Leonhart offered her trust, yet she couldn't offer the same courtesy in kind. He held out an olive branch, meanwhile the only thing she held out was her hand.

That's why she felt compelled to finish her observations. Truthfully, this was for Zone – for all those that others disregarded, looked down on without a second thought. Education was important, she'd never argue that fact, but intelligence went beyond a piece of paper. Ten minutes ago, she was hell-bent on teaching him that it didn't take being a government agent with an Ivy League degree to be able to read people.

Now it was all moot and he'd never see her as anything more than the amateur who just royally fucked up. Someone inexperienced, foolhardy, and unable to be his equal in any regards. Yes, in a verbal debate, he'd easily hold the upper hand, as she never claimed to be articulate and that's also why her future in politics was non-existent at best, humorous at worst. However, none of that meant she wasn't observant either.

Then again, why would he believe her?

She admitted it had taken three years to discover Zone's secret. In her heart, Rinoa believed it's because she refused to see the picture as a whole. She knew Zone's pain, she knew the extent of his injuries, and knew that his relief was simultaneously saving and killing him. However, she didn't know that his actions went beyond him. At least, not at first…. In the end, the one thing she feared had come true, because his habit had found a way to kill him one way or another.

"Go on," he suddenly encouraged her. She thought that when she put the wallet on the table, he'd take it as the opposite kind of signal.

"I'm done. Take your wallet back."

"No, you're not."

She opened her mouth ready to argue, but she couldn't. She found the strength to look at him and something about him seemed so… genuine?

He nodded as to prod her further. She didn't want to, yet she found that she couldn't resist either. She had been the cause of this after all. So she continued, but felt completely deflated. "… I see you have at least two gold credit cards. A federal agent doesn't make that much, so I'd go with two possible theories. First, you come across rather… well, obsessive."

He cocked an eyebrow at that one, as it was not something he was often called to his face. A few other adjectives, yes, but that one usually didn't top this list. Not at least without a few other profanities attached.

Maybe it was confusion, but she let out a tense chuckle. Again, her word choice was poor, but at least this one was _a lot_ easier to correct. "I mean obsessive as in… Well, more along the lines of anal-retentive - you know, the type who checks and double checks. I'd be willing to put money on the fact you've never paid a single bill late and thus your credit is impeccable. The excellent credit, along with your yearly salary, would be more than enough to secure gold cards, possibly platinum. While I'll stand by that assertion, I'd also say there's a high probability that your family has money, although there's a part of you that's standoffish, so there may be some sort of strain there… trust me, I get it."

What in the ever-loving hell was she doing? She'd stepped beyond the line of what was socially-acceptable. Not only had she stepped over it, she'd decimated it, charging across with the grace of a Behemoth in tutu. As an aside, she really needed to come up with metaphors that didn't involve random creatures and unfortunate mental images.

As for Squall, he'd watched her though all her observations. Not only that but as she'd cycled through a gambit of emotions - confidence, embarrassment, and even a bout with sorrow. That type of reaction was expected was with any tragedy. Honestly, he'd be more suspicious if she had remained emotionally leveled.

Reaching for his the wallet, he placed it back into his pocket. Again, he wondered why he'd chosen that route, but he convinced himself it was about building trust and the passing minutes of the clock. There was no way to do that without giving up a little of himself, no matter how difficult that was. The interesting thing is they had both taken away something from the exchange – and he'd learned more about her as a person now than he had after reading any words in her file.

Squall learned the way she thought, the way her mind processed things. He learned that Rinoa Heartilly had been surprisingly astute and he found himself bordering on impressed. However, he wouldn't allow her to know how close to the mark she'd been for most, _if not all_ , of it.

He'd also learned there was so much wasted potential in her. He wondered what Caraway had done that never made it on paper. He had the documentation on the child endangerment, three separate counts on locking her up and then the fire, but he'd never tell her he knew. That was way too personal and it was likely after today that he'd never see her again. There honestly was no reason to kick her while she was down.

But what he learned most? He learned that his decision was solidified. This would be calculated risk, but even a calculated risk was still a risk. Still, he had no doubt that he'd made the right choice.

Reaching over, he grabbed a clean towel and had her re-wrapping her arm now that it had time to get a little air. While he was leaning in towards her, he allowed one bit of personal info slip - trust was a give and take after all.

"I'm just over five nine, the shoes add a little. What they put on there wasn't under my control."

Rinoa had no idea why he was telling her… except maybe to let her know that she was right, the license was wrong? Was that what he'd meant? Then as thin smile graced her lips, she realized it was probably another olive branch. And this time, she'd offer her own, although telling him anything like this was rather useless considering he had her entire life story at his fingertips.

It was silly but, for once, it felt like an honest conversation. "I'm 5' 4" _ish_ … It's sorta weird because I seem to fluctuate between that and 5'3" depending. But even if I had a license, I doubt I'd even take the time to look. Honestly, I'd be more likely to check my weight," she quickly added as an afterthought, "don't worry, promise not to add or subtract numbers."

Once she said that, she swore he looked away on purpose.

And he had. It wasn't like he was going so smile, but he found himself amused… he felt the need to keep that to himself. Also, she had taken his advice, not allowing the mistake to control her as she joked. Then he realized that he'd never actually looked at his height either. Today was the first time he'd known when she read it. There were always more pressing matters than how tall Deling City believed him to be.

Finally, he stood up, leaving her sitting alone at the table. He knew she probably wondered what she'd done wrong.

Again he found himself crossing his arms, looking out the window on the emergency exit. His eyes scanned the entire lot, including the back parking area. The more he lined up the facts, the more he could identify all the convenient twists.

They were one after another… some new, some old.

First, there was Quistis, one of a few that he'd ever referred to as a friend. It was a title that was not earned easily. As Miss. Heartilly said, the few people he'd ever allowed close he'd do anything within his power to help. Or at least he would've, back then… He cared about her but, more than that, he _trusted_ her and, for the most part, time left at least a few things unaffected. Squall was surprised at how thankful he was for the familiarity. In sixteen years, she hadn't changed much but, then again, neither had he - on the surface.

Then there was a paramedic who didn't do his job and a stranger that apparently did. Then there was Zone, a low-level drug dealer who had been trying to get out, but the DEA had other plans. There was also a man only referred to as "Watts." A deceased agent who'd implied that Miss Heartilly wasn't safe trusting those in Timber.

On top of all that there was Rinoa Heartilly. He'd never had a witness who 'selectively' changed their last name while in the middle of questioning. Over the years, Squall found that many people considered the abilities of articulation and intelligence linked. While that sometimes held true, those traits weren't always exclusively tied to one another – that's exactly what put her at an advantage, seeing as people would underestimate her. He didn't. She may get tongue-tied and flustered at the drop of a Gil, but she could read people, at least, she seemed to read him fairly well, although she'd never be privy to that information.

He also knew that she wasn't going to like this next part. In life there were no guarantees and this could end badly for all of them.

Walking back, he needed answers and hopefully he'd given her reason enough to trust him. That was the extent he'd offer. He sat back down, looking her directly in the eyes. "No more _I cant's_. Tell me _exactly_ what happened."


	9. Take A Bow...

_ 6:38 pm, October 10th _

Quistis had a gut feeling.

It had become an increasingly-rare occurrence over the last years but, when it happened, something bad seemed to follow. She tried not to believe in self-fulfilling prophesies; she wanted to trust that the future was hers alone. But when this hollow feeling emanated from within, everything was thrown into question. It had started about twenty minutes ago, just so happening to coincide with Squall's little stunt.

The queasiness had been slow moving, creeping at a snail's pace before taking hold of her body. When she was the unit commander back at Garden, she'd feel this way any time one of her charges was around danger. There had been too many close-calls and sleepless nights, but they'd all managed to make it through in one piece; she wished she could say the same of her psyche, however. Those under her often teased that she'd been reincarnated from a witch or some other magical being in another life and her feelings were simply residual traces of that time.

She didn't believe in that stuff. It wasn't real, it wasn't tangible.

So, she tried to downplay these sensations, growing tired of the comments. They were never nasty, actually the opposite. For some reason, all the students respected her and trusted her instincts. That made the job of being their superior easier, but being their equal rather difficult. That's why she always felt alone, nobody would ever know how difficult those days were. Well, that wasn't true, somebody did…

No matter how respected the Gardens were among the different the nations as a top military school, they were still just a school. Nothing could prepare her (or any of them) for the actual military or for actual combat. She'd suddenly gone from being someone revered and respected to just another soldier. A name. A low-ranking nobody. When she'd enlisted, she'd gone through training and then was assigned to a squadron with Squall. The chances were astronomical; she took it as a sign. She also believed that there would be a mutual familiarity. _There wasn't_. It was a real war zone with real battles. It wasn't training exercises with a pass or fail grade, it was life or death. No matter how brilliant she was on paper, it didn't quite translate well on the front lines.

So when her tour ended, she had used her grades and her Garden decorations to land a job with the DEA. Squall had left too, without explanation or reason. She'd believed he would stay on for another tour considering that he seemed like a natural - every skill that she lacked, he possessed tenfold. But he had said nothing, gave nobody his reasons, and headed back to Deling City. Within a week, he had a position she could only dream of and the road from there on out seemed to be paved entirely of platinum for him; she would have been be lucky to have found a bronze-plated alleyway. While he was able to distance himself from the military, from war, she had a harder time. She was extremely proud of him, still priding herself on being his first 'commanding officer' although she doubted that he would say it was anything but a classroom assignment.

She'd never tell him, but she followed his progress. She would smile at each accolade, feel pride with every medal. He didn't seem fazed either way, but she was thrilled for him. She wished he felt a fraction of what she did with each honor. To her, she'd always remember that ten-year-old boy she met at the library after beating him in a game of Triple Triad. To date, that was the _only_ game she'd ever won against him. She'd like to say he was being polite by letting the girl win but she knew better. That wasn't Squall. After that, they didn't speak much until he was fifteen and they placed into Garden's top honors classes together.

It was early September when he was moved up into her class and she was no stranger to her gut feelings by then. The first time she experienced that with Squall was a survival weekend since the boys and girls went on separate trips. She'd always remember it; she worried about him the entire duration – a weekend that, much to her chagrin, had lasted four days.

When he came back safe and sound with the rest of the class, she realized it wasn't gone; the feeling was still very much there. It wasn't the normal bit of foreboding she felt for everyone – it was simply the first day of a very long period in her life.

She'd like to say it had completely faded. And it did at least until his next medal, the next promotion, or the next big case. Even so, it wasn't completely like that — she'd also moved on, had boyfriends, relationships, a very brief engagement, and even an uncharacteristic one-night stand. It was nothing she was proud of, but the point was, she _had_ moved on; she'd even been in love once. But when she was facing her teenage years face-to-face, it was hard not to relive those memories or ponder on the 'what ifs.' Because all these years, every time she saw him, he was always alone. She hoped that it was by choice. Actually, she knew it was by choice.

How she felt hadn't been a secret since they were seventeen and before then, she didn't exactly hide it well. But he'd never teased her for it; he'd always been respectful, even if he didn't reciprocate the feelings. Still, in all the years of knowing him, he'd always kept his private life guarded, and what little she knew came from clues that were often dropped from outside sources. But no matter what happened, he'd always been her friend and with Squall Leonhart, _that_ was a title few earned. Honestly, that honor easily equaled any award she'd ever earned during her tenure.

Still, Quistis didn't know if this fact made it easy or harder. She would always be grateful that he remained her friend, let her in when he'd shut so many others out and even after he could've easily turned his back, he didn't. There was always going to be that part of her that was protective, who wanted to look out for him even when he didn't want it. Those feelings would never completely fade. They'd been such an integral part of her adolescence and honestly, she wouldn't want them to – they were a part of everything that had gone into making her into who she was today.

But there was also that feeling – that one in the bottom of her gut, the feeling of foreboding that was slowly sneaking up on her. The moment she heard the tumbler in the door's locking mechanism fall was the exact moment her stomach sank. She couldn't blame his actions on impulsiveness or even age or circumstance – this was Squall. Still, that didn't stop her from worrying and just when she felt like she couldn't stand out here another minute, it started.

The yelling.

Okay, this was Squall and 'yelling' was probably far too much of a reach, but 'loudly speaking in a bout of irritation' didn't quite have the same effect, nor did it pack the same visual punch. She couldn't make out a lot, but she still caught the gist of it — Squall must've asked Rinoa something, something she that refused to tell him. The one word that Quistis could constantly make out was him repeating _'couldn't'_ with disgust. Honestly, beside the few times she'd heard him shouting military orders, she'd never heard Squall raise his voice this much. It took a lot of emotion to get a verbal rise out of him.

She swallowed, trying to quell these growing fears but, once this dam broke, the contingency plan had to be placed in motion. Outwardly, the agent carried herself like nothing had changed as she made her way next to the break room. Between the two uniformed guards and the loud voices behind the door, passersby had started to take interest. To keep this from becoming an even bigger spectacle, she had to make sure her presence known. Taking control, she placed her hand, waving them on as if their concern was unwarranted.

Of course she couldn't say for sure if it was or wasn't and that's why she felt her actions were more for show. However, the one thing she could say with absolute certainty was that she felt as if she'd been demoted to nothing more than crowd control. Growing tired of her newfound role as traffic cop, she contemplated knocking. On two separate occasions, she even put her hand parallel to the door, but she could never quite get herself to take that one final step. Maybe she should've knocked, but she'd stopped – way to demonstrate her indecision in front of the guards. She closed her eyes briefly, taking just enough of a step back to place a little distance between her and the door. She trusted him. What was Heartilly going to do - cast some sort of spell on him?

It was a difficult reality to accept, but she had to; Quistis Trepe was coming face-to-face with dormant emotions, compounded by all the years that had passed. She couldn't even say if they were real anymore or lingering fragments that she'd never made peace with. But just like then, through Garden, through the military, and into their adult lives, the truth remained resolute. He did need her - he needed her as backup if she was called. He needed her as someone who he could trust with his life, someone who would always have his back. She owed him that much.

Luckily, all her problems (at least in some regards) were resolved as soon as the door flew open.

Quistis literally jumped back, afraid of being taken out as he charged into the hall. Behind him, the door slammed so hard that she could feel the rush of wind through her hair. She had no idea what was his problem, but there most _definitely_ was a problem. Turning her head slightly, she looked into the larger part of the station. And that's when she noticed - it was a spell so powerful that it seized control of every living thing within its grasp.

Okay, maybe it wasn't a spell per se, but whatever it was transformed a station full of cops into statues. Although they were in the hallway, there was a glass partition separating them from open area. All eyes were squarely fixed on them, from the officers, to a few detainees in main holding, and even a few female escorts making bail, conveniently before nightfall. Then again, they could've just been staring at Squall - it was rather common occurrence even when he wasn't alerting the entire station to his presence.

Still, that remained the question at hand - _what_ the hell happened?

For someone who always carried his emotions in check, even while taking fire in the Northern sector of Esthar, surrounded on all sides… Quistis refused to believe that this Heartilly woman had managed to garner this reaction - there had to be more behind this. Then again, she was basing this on five year-old memories of someone she'd thought of as more of an ideal than a human being.

She turned back to Agent Leonhart who seemed to be oblivious to everyone's contemptuous looks. And just like that, Quistis found that she'd fallen right back into old patterns. All other variables faded as she put all her efforts into study him. It was his own fault, and it didn't matter how upset he was because _he_ was the one that looked rather like the horse's ass. Before he found himself in the middle of career suicide, she had to get a read on the situation. He wouldn't buy that for a second, call bullshit on that – but whatever, it was his own fucking choice.

Maybe it was, but earlier she remembered that it was her duty to always have his back and sometimes that included the times he didn't ask for it. She'd done several things over the last few years she wasn't proud of - maybe, just maybe, if someone had her back she wouldn't have made those choices. Quistis had always felt that the need to be perfect was like a never-ending burden she had to shoulder, but the only one applying pressure was herself. She wouldn't let him fall like she had; she wouldn't let him go down with her.

He was fuming. Silently, he stood there, jaw clenched, looking toward the ground. All at once, he ran a hand through his hair - a telltale sign of his frustration. Except this time, it was more vigorous than what 'running it through' implied. Honestly, she wouldn't have been too surprised if he'd come up with an entire clump between his fingers. He rarely vocalized his anger, but he showed it – that is, if one knew him and, back in the day, she'd considered herself an expert Squall observer. Of course, she would never admit this fact – not now, not ever.

Then it happened - he made a move. Thankfully, everyone had returned to their work, or at least had the foresight to look as if they had, by now.

"Nobody goes in or out of the door without me. Even if she knocks, don't answer. If she wants to play difficult, game on." Even though he spoke in a surprisingly-calm manner, his voice was laced with acrimony.

In that brief moment, Agent Trepe _almost_ had a pang of sympathy for Rinoa, only because could relate to being on the receiving end of Squall's ire, although if Rinoa was holding out on information, she couldn't say that it wasn't deserved.

He suddenly took off and she tried catching up, her long strides resembling a brisk walk or a slow jog – whichever it was, she was attempting it in heels. "Squall, what's going on?"

It equally caught her off-guard when he stopped abruptly. Even though they'd made eye contact, judging by the way he looked at her, it was as if she wasn't even there. "What's going on!? There's a dead agent and the only person who can keeps pointing out that she _'can't'_ say a fucking word. What the hell is wrong with people today?"

"So, what are going to do?"

"I'm throwing her a fucking party," he shot back, almost tauntingly. Worse yet, there was something about his behavior that she took as condescending. Quistis was truly taken aback; taunting, condescending, sarcastic – these weren't like him… well, that wasn't exactly true. It just wasn't like him to be this way towards her. His tone was loud enough that anyone walking by would be privy to their conversation.

Maybe he knew that he'd been caught up in something, that it wasn't like him to be this way either; she saw the moment his anger broke. His emotions had been misdirected and although he wouldn't apologize in so many words, she knew that he regretted his behavior towards her.

She wouldn't blame him, she never really did. He'd lashed out in anger, he was human – moreover, he was a person who was trying to do the right thing. The next words out of his mouth weren't an apology, but they were the closest to an 'I'm sorry' she'd get from Squall Leonhart.

"Look... It's just that Heartilly wants to do this the hard way. She might have won this round, but I damn well hope that victory will be spent being locked away at the federal level."

It didn't matter how low he'd intended to be, as he continued, the volume he was speaking at had increased. She guessed that it correlated to his level of bitterness, but regardless of what the root cause was, she started to feel guilty. Here, the deceased was an agent from her DEA office, and yet Squall was the one placing all the weight on his shoulders.

…Typical, noble, commendable, and, damn it all, perfect. These were the exact traits he'd demonstrated after graciously losing his favorite Triple Triad card to an eleven-year-old girl.

"Squall, I understand, I really do, but you need to keep your voice down." Without question, those were words she never thought she'd have to tell Agent Leonhart.

He'd taken a few steps forward, ending up in an archway that was roughly the size of a double door. It also happened to be a rather central spot as two hallways converged near the spot and it also separated the reception area from the main open-area of the station. At this point, everyone who was able to continued watching the feds make spectacles out of themselves. Most at least did so under the guise of work, but a few were openly staring. Quistis even noticed that the newly-bonded female escorts had taken their own sweet time. In fact, judging by the way they were unabashedly staring at him, she'd presumed that they were either working on a group rate or organizing a fan club. Fine, so Quistis might have been imagining ridiculous scenarios for her own amusement… that was until she thought she saw the one scantily-clad in leopard print hold up her telephone and mouth, 'call me' to Squall (which she in fact did). No matter what people were pretending to do around them, the fact remained crystal clear - she and Squall were still center stage spotlight.

His eyes surveyed his surroundings as he seemed to be contemplating something. The thing was that she saw something she hadn't expected while making a public display – indifference.

"Thank you, Quistis, but you're no longer my commanding officer and I certainly know you're not my mother. Stop telling me what to do."

Just as if it had been on cue, a loud crash thundered from the building's east end - enter stage right - Detective Almasy. If she thought that Squall had been angry, he was a purring baby kitty-cat compared Almasy. It defied all logic, but she could physically feel his seething from here.

"What the fucking hell!?" While storming by another desk, he leaned down and with one fell-swoop of the hand, its contents went flying.

At this point, she heard Squall whisper under his breath. "Oh good, dad's here. The dysfunctional family is complete."

Quistis kept her head faced down the hall, but her eyes knowingly darted towards Squall. There was _no way_ in hell that Squall and Seifer's anger held common ground. There was only one thing that would make Seifer fly into a blind rage right now – and that was Agent Leonhart himself.

"What did you do?"

"My job."

In this case, she knew that it couldn't be a good thing. It was obvious with his flippant answer that any back-and-forth was out of the question. Maybe it was because they knew each other's mannerisms down to the last raised eyebrow or maybe, just maybe, it was because Seifer had just sent something else flying into the air in anger. The closer he got, the more Quistis realized that they were on borrowed time. Squall decided to play nice, at least giving her a little bit of head's up on the situation.

"There are two agents en route from the FBI satellite office. Rinoa Heartilly has been officially placed into federal custody. She's not going to jail, she's going to prison."

…And that would do it. Quistis had no idea how to mediate this as she wasn't exactly impartial anymore. Any sympathy she had towards Heartilly was gone.

Quistis took a cautious step back as Seifer obliterated all boundaries of personal space. The men stood face-to-face as every eye was on them. The Timber officers knew that Seifer was the textbook definition of a loose cannon; personally, Quistis wouldn't have been surprised if they'd started an office pool the moment Squall had first sauntered through the door.

To accentuate each word, Almasy pointed, purposely poking into Squall's chest to antagonize him. "Don't you fucking speak to me. Let me in to see her."

Squall defiantly folded his arms. "Miss Caraway is in federal custody. Maybe if you'd said please and thank you. Sorry."

"Heartilly, you ass, her name is-"

"Almasy!" A roar emitted from a nearby office, as a man stormed into the main area. "What in the ever-loving hell's all the commotion about?"

"Finally," Squall said under his breath, keeping his eyes glued on Seifer.

Quistis glanced between all three men - the two currently locked in a testosterone-fest and the middle-aged stranger demanding answers. Squall was on his own; it was her job to present herself and her agency with utmost class and dignity, apparently her colleague was busy doing… the exact opposite.

Turning towards the older man, she managed a few steps forward. He didn't carry the air of authority, yet Quistis was positive that he held it. Honestly, she believed that he had to have seen better days – ten years ago, this man was probably an entirely-different person. There was just an aura about him; it was a feeling that she'd had a few times with other low-level superiors whose fortune didn't go their way – one mistake or one wrong move later, and they found themselves imprisoned in a dead-end job. She'd estimated that he was at least three-decades her senior, judging by the light brown hair that was receding on either side. The suit he wore hung loosely around his body, maybe a side-effect was the job's stress (or the stress of dealing with Almasy) but he looked tired, defeated, and even trapped.

Even while being called out, Seifer refused to yield as his words dripped with venom. "Captain Martine, these are the feds – just like you said… especially _this_ one."

"I apologize about the commotion, Captain Martine, is it?" Politely smiling, Quistis extended her hand to the man. "It's been a long day for all of us… unfortunately, one of many to come, but I'd like not to get off on the wrong foot."

Martine accepted it, although begrudgingly and looking none-too-pleased. "…And you are?"

"…Again, my apologies, Quistis Trepe, DEA. It was one of our operatives that was caught in the explosion today."

She turned back to Squall and was thankful that he'd returned to his senses, allowing Seifer to win their impromptu game of chicken. No matter what, she knew that Squall wasn't about to jeopardize his entire career over the likes of Seifer Almasy – she was positive about that.

By now, he'd taken the place next to her, and she made a motion with her head. "And this is Special Agent Squall Leonhart with the FBI. He's currently been taking point on our side."

"Point, eh? At least you're not trying to play off the equality bit," Martine's brusque voice mirrored his mind-set. It was obvious that Seifer wasn't the only one who had a distain for feds.

The female agent watched as the captain gave Squall the visual once-over, also noting that neither man attempted a handshake - at least they found common ground on something.

"So, you're in charge, huh? Nice to know, now I have a face to go along with the shitty job you're doing. Care to explain why you turned my station into a warzone, Mr. Point?'

"Your detective here wants to speak to my witness. The one I'm currently holding for transport into federal custody."

"Look, Leonhart was it?"

"Leonhard, Leonhart - same diff," Seifer snidely added from the sidelines.

Quistis didn't break her façade, remaining the utmost professional, although she glanced at the detective, hoping that he'd remain on his best behavior. His only reaction to her was a lopsided smirk and wink. She wished she hadn't looked. Turning back, it hit her; she now had two of them to worry about – and these men couldn't be more different…or more alike. She couldn't exactly explain that statement, but it rang completely true. Honestly, this day had started bad, moved into horrible, and now spiraled into the fifth level of hell.

Clearing his throat, the expression on his face read more bothered than concerned. "Agents, this isn't an issue. At least, I've yet to see one."

She also could tell that Martine's words weren't meant to be taken as a polite suggestion; the thinly-veiled disgust said it all. So far, her old friend seemed to be back to his normal self – it was a welcome change considering that she honestly wasn't too thrilled of this newer, and not-so-improved, Squall 2.0 version.

It seemed Martine took the momentary silence as an excuse to continue, "…And Special Agent Leonhart, we're all aware of the hierarchy that doesn't exist. This witness is in your custody, right? Maybe you should show a little goodwill and let my detective say a few words. In return, you can stay in there and monitor what's being said. It seems like a fair compromise all around. Think of this of the adult version of 'I'll show you mine, you show me yours,' if you didn't quite understand my suggestion from all the way up there."

Quistis spoke up, hoping to cut this off before it ended in fisticuffs. "Detective Almasy, Miss Heartilly's still in the break room." She faced Squall. "I do believe it sounds like a fair trade and does show good faith."

Of course her words were virtually worthless if the other two parties didn't agree.

"Whatever."

Thankfully, Quistis still could still speak Squall 101; it was basic down to its very core, and looking at Seifer, his self-confident smirk of victory said it all. This was the second thing he'd won in the matter of a few minutes. He knew that Agent Leonhart wasn't a happy camper, ergo Detective Almasy was.

And so her decent continued onward to the seventh level of hell…

"Thank you, Captain Martine. I believe you've successfully bartered a truce." The man uttered some sort of flippant goodbye, before he turned and left.

"Oh good, Leggy-Fed's stamp of approval – my lucky day," he threw another wry wink before turning to his newfound friend, "Now, be a good little boy, and listen to your girlfriend. Something says she gets feisty when she doesn't get what she wants, right? I'm picturing handcuffs and whips… yeah, definitely. I actually got a very vivid picture going on with her and a whip and a few chains." He walked up, giving her a slight nudge in the ribs. "Called it right, didn't I Leggy? Whips and chains?"

Quistis merely rolled her eyes, her action wasn't subtle my any means as she physically pushed him away, none too gently either. That aside, she found herself in a surprisingly-comparable situation to Squall, eager to take this man down a few pegs. The guy just had a way of grating on everybody's nerves, except Rinoa. For some reason, he'd taken to her and she couldn't explain it – no, she _didn't_ want to explain it. Even his loyalty was misplaced; he had gone out of his way to protect her, something else that she couldn't figure out. A the moment, she had no inclination of trying to figure out what made Almasy tick because, as of now, she needed her head cleared as they headed back to the break room. There was relief in sight, because when as the other FBI agents arrived to transfer custody, their part would be mostly over.

Unfortunately, just because Quistis had nothing else to say to him, didn't mean that he'd return the favor. Honestly, she had this strange feeling that now that the end was near, he wasn't keen on being forgotten.

"Aww, you know Quistis, if I may call you Quistis. I feel-."

"No. You may not." Fine, she did have one more thing to say after all.

The result was to be expected. It didn't work.

"Noted, Quistis, but back to what I was saying. I'm really starting to get this underlying feeling of love at first sight. I'm actually _not_ kidding. I know, may be hard to believe, but love is one of those things that I just don't joke about. You know, people do odd things even if they can't explain why at the time. Also, I'm growing on you, admit it."

"Yes. Like algae."

"We kid, see? But while we're on that subject, you and I? See, I have this way of putting you under some kind of spell. You can't help yourself. Me - the dashing, young knight. You – the decent-looking leggy fed. It's a classic fairytale. Hey, we even have your boyfriend, the Evil Orc, who has the personality of a wooden plank or a brick wall – or a wooden wall. Take your pick since you know him best, but I think you see where this is going. When you decide to dump the troll and stop swamping it up, give me a call. I don't have a castle with a moat, but I have a fifth floor apartment that overlooks a canal. Close enough."

Again, Quistis counted on silence truly being golden. Thankfully, they'd run out of time, finding their way back to familiar territory. She had spent the better part of twenty minutes resting on a wall adjacent to the break room after all. It appeared that even Seifer had run out of jabs or maybe he was worried about what Rinoa would think. For someone who declared himself a knight a minute ago, he'd more or less failed epically. Then again, she hated defending the man on any level but, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Seifer hadn't failed Rinoa, Rinoa had failed herself. If anything, the knight had gone out of his way to try to save her.

Not that it mattered - they'd solve this case even without the girl.

That explained Seifer's newfound interest in her. If the so-called damsel-in-distress was upgrading her accommodations from Timber PD's cozy little holding cell to a full-blown prison, maybe he was just cutting his losses and moving on to his next damsel, although the detective would surely learn that Quistis wasn't in distress. If he got too close, he'd quickly find out that _he'd_ be the one in distress.

Staying back, Quistis let Squall continue to lead. If Seifer wanted to complain that was his business, she'd let them hash it out – they were doing so well at that already. Speaking of which, he had a brief exchange with the guards before Squall motioned that they were dismissed. The guards' body language indicated they were familiar with detective Almasy but, then again, she had a feeling that he was somewhat legendary even outside of this station, like everyone knew him – or of him.

Seifer didn't verbally respond to Squall, but the look they exchanged… it was brief but, if looks could kill, there'd be no survivors. It seemed as if they brought out the worst in each other. She was becoming concerned that his would come to blows, but she had to shake the thought from her head. They might've been posturing, doing this macho thing, but neither of them was stupid enough to risk their careers.

Opening the door, Seifer pushed his way into the break room first. Squall then motioned Quistis to go ahead; even in the midst of chaos, she believed that he remained gentleman as he followed close behind. The minute she walked through the door, she felt something was immediately amiss and it was more than the room's atmosphere. By now, the tension between the two men was off-the-charts and it didn't take her long to figure out why. In one quick glance, it was obvious that Rinoa was no longer sitting at the table. She wasn't standing at the sink. Or she wasn't looking out a window. She simply wasn't there.

"What the ever-loving fuck, Leonhart!?"

Squall was pissed. Quistis knew him well enough to know what he was feeling and believed that he was incapable of polite civility. Storming out without a word, he left them standing in the room, but not for long. The duo quickly chased after him, catching up just in time to witness him about to tackle the guarding officers. The men, the ones she'd noticed Seifer was chummy with, had been casually strolling down the hall. She stayed back, knowing it was best to give him space, especially because he was being pursued by Seifer. It seemed that the detective was ready to defend his brothers in blue if it became necessary. Before he'd allow them to take the fall, he'd most likely turn the blame back onto the feds. Either way, it seemed like the entire station was about to be treated to an encore presentation of the earlier show.

"What the hell happened!?" Squall demanded, grabbing the man by the arm. "Where is she?"

He'd jerked back in surprise, being run-up on wasn't something he'd expected. He shook the agent off of him, giving his own version of the death glare.

"Where's who?" the other one asked in confusion.

Quistis knew it went without saying that _this_ answer was going to set off Squall. "My witness - you were left in charge to watch."

"We didn't even see her. Nobody went in or out of the door as you ordered."

Seifer stepped in between Squall and the officers. "Hold up. Biggs and Wedge followed your orders, maybe you should've been the big-shot fed and taken care of your own prisoner. Seems to me you're the one who fucked up."

"Me? It was your job to put her in a secure location. Your buffoons couldn't handle watching your own ass."

"Shut up," Seifer warned, "You seem to forget _our_ job was to assist. Remember, we're just the piece of shit on your shiny, over-priced shoes. So, nice try asshole. Say what you want but when the push comes to shove, Timber PD wasn't the ones who left her in the non-secured break room when you're more than aware that we have a holding cell that does the job. Hell, you know she's scared and then found out her only option was prison… well, I'll just say that even an untrained monkey could see that one coming."

"You're a-"

"Stop it!" Quistis stopped Squall before anything else was said. Looking over to the person the reception desk, she decided to take charge. "Lock the doors - nobody goes in or out."

Everyone was gathering around the commotion, finding themselves under the main archway again. The captain must have been notified as he angrily pushed his own officers out of the way to get to the main attraction.

"What the hell happened now? I thought we settled this shit."

"Captain Martine, the place is on lock down, the suspect has escaped." Quistis did her best to relay the info, although her mind was so far removed, she was still trying to figure out what had happened.

"Witness," Seifer chimed in, fully well knowing the result.

"Get a team inside and a perimeter search go-"

She didn't think that the words had fully left Martine's mouth before it became a blur. Honestly, she couldn't say what happened; it looked as if Seifer put up a hand to mock Squall, but he read it as aggression and immediately went to neutralize the situation. No matter what happened, within a blink of an eye, the two were engaged in a full-blown brawl.

It was the worst-case scenario. What she thought would never happened was happening.

Neither were holding back, obviously the events of the day weighing on them. A few officers tried to break it up, but were only taken down in the process.

"Squall, stop it! You've worked too damn hard!"

"Yeah, girly says you've worked too damn Leon- _hard_ ," Seifer teased, nursing his bloody lip. Seifer had just made it back to his feet as Squall had fallen back onto the desk, but he wasn't the type to go down easily so he lunged at the man at full-force. It seemed like they were determined to play this out.

They fell onto a nearby desk; she couldn't make out what was going on between the crashing and the cheering. Judging from the comments, it seemed as though Seifer had flipped him, now having the upper hand. She'd like to pretend that it was her imagination, but she wasn't known as a creative type in certain circles. Squall yelled out and it sounded like he was in pain; maybe that was enough for Almasy to realize that this was serious.

By the time Quistis pushed her way through, there were two guys holding down Squall as detective Almasy was on the ground next to him. She had no idea how Seifer had managed it but, it seemed that she'd greatly underestimated his capabilities. As for Squall… he looked like hell. He had what appeared to be a large gash on his forehead, she couldn't tell how bad it was with the blood covering his entire face.

Looking down, Quistis could make out broken glass, but couldn't say if that is what had cut Squall — it could've been from virtually anything lying around. It made her feel physically sick to her stomach. She'd seen so much worse, but this got to her, the needless, senselessness of it all. Seifer had made his way to his knees, wiping his lip as he looked at Squall.

They'd both fucked up and they all knew it.

Martine kicked the scattered items on the floor towards Squall, as if he was trying to add insult to injury. If Squall was hoping for leniency, it wouldn't be found from this guy.

It didn't seem like the captain gave a rat's ass about Squall's injuries, grabbing him by the shirt collar as the other two officers held him up. "Get the fuck out of my station."

"Sir please…" Quistis knew it was beating a dead horse, but she had to try, had to hope.

"Drop it Agent Trepe, or you'll be on your ass after him. I'll give you another shot, but he's gone." He tightened his grip on Squall's collar. "Now get out of my face, out of my station, and out of my city."

"I'm bleeding." Squall repeated, looking stunned as he peered down at the blood trailing from his face to his jacket.

"Good." Martine pulled him to his feet, and then pushed him away forcefully. It looked like Squall was disoriented, nearly tripping over himself, but luckily regaining his footing in time. Martine then made a gesture with his hands, although she wasn't sure what its significance was. It wasn't flipping him off, but she guessed the meaning was similar.

Squall's face held the same contemptuous look she'd seen earlier, but he didn't speak. This was slowly killing her, she wanted to reach out and help, but she couldn't. She had to remain distant as he turned and started walking to the door.

"Yo, Fed-Boy, take your trash. We were even nice enough to put it in a garbage bag - the symbolism was just too good to pass up." Seifer yelled as Squall headed out into the reception area. "Go running home with your tail between your legs."

Squall didn't acknowledge him, which Quistis believed was one of his better decisions all day. He reached out, grabbing the black trash bag that was sitting at the edge of the reception desk. She assumed they'd thrown all of Squall's files in there. It was tearing her heart not to say something, _anything_ , but this was about damage control. Then again, even she knew that it was impossible, he'd already screwed himself.

She had to remember that - even if she refused to accept it. Now it was time to do the impossible, to solve the case, find the runaway witness, and save Squall _and_ his career. If there was a way, she'd find it – even if it meant playing nice with Almasy.

* * *

He didn't look back at Quistis, didn't turn to stop look at Seifer, or even once think about going back to Martine and beg for forgiveness. Hardly. Instead, he walked to his sedan in the parking lot. Unlocking the door, he tossed the garbage bag into the passenger seat before getting in. After closing the door, he pulled down the visor.

"I'm bleeding," Squall mumbled, glancing at the mirror.

There was no malice in his voice - no yelling or anger. The moment his shoes hit the parking lot, he'd reverted to his normal self but, to be fair, his usual state-of-mind often involved dislike for someone. Well, _almost_ reverted back to normal as the blood snaking its way down his face was new. If this left a scar, he'd be extremely pissed.

"That son-of-a-bitch actually made me bleed." he reiterated, his words and the tone of his voice betraying the facts.

He knew that the cut was accidental; it was something they'd both had a hand in doing. Honestly, Agent Leonhart wasn't the type to worry about vanity, but that certainly didn't mean he'd be thrilled to have a physical memento from this day. As for how it happened, he honestly couldn't say what cut him but thankfully it looked clean – if there was anything to be remotely 'thankful' for.

He took a deep breath, still trying to collect himself. He knew he had to leave this station much sooner than later. However, his first order of business was to get the blood out of his eyes.

"I'm going to kick his ass. I liked this suit." Leaning forward, he skillfully managed to shimmy off his jacket. Wadding it up, he placed it directly on his head. He'd make damn sure that Almasy would get the dry cleaning bill for this later.

Quickly fastening his seatbelt, he turned on the car and again, without so much as a glance back, he pulled out onto the road, trying to get as much distance between him and the Timber PD as possible. His stay wasn't exactly what one would call a pleasant experience. Then again, even with the blood, he'd venture to say that he got off easy; Quistis was going to be the one with the uphill battle. He still didn't know what to make of any of that, he needed time to sort many things through – she was one of them.

He continued driving, albeit not-too-gracefully as he attempted to juggle the tasks of steering, shifting, and keeping his ultra-expensive bandage in place. He then looked down to the garbage bag on the seat. If he didn't already look like the world's greatest fool, he certainly felt like one.

"Shit." Now he was angry. He slammed the steering wheel with his palm, chastising himself for his blatant stupidity. Between shifts, he reached down to grab the bag, tossing it into the back seat. _Of course_ there were bandages in there; that little realization would've been nice to have had before removing his jacket.

"… I'm sorry. Is your head bad?"

He let out a small snort.

"Yes and no. It's all relative, right? I'll survive. Just stay down, but see what types of medical supplies are in there - he was supposed to throw some in. I'll still need to stitch up your arm so it heals correctly."


	10. A Leap of Faith...

_ 7:01 pm, October 10 _ _ th _

" _I'm sorry. Is your head bad?"_

Rinoa winced after hearing herself – even without being able to see, everything he'd said made her obvious statement, well… obvious. At least she was in the perfect position for concealing her shame. Apparently, this was her new and improved version of curling up in a ball and hiding away from the world (in particular, from one of its inhabitants). Well, technically she wasn't 'curled,' rather it was more along the lines of 'awkwardly scrunched up, laying on the backseat floorboards, with a blanket over her head.' Zone had always said if you're going to do something, do it in a way nobody else would. Yep, she had that covered and then some, which is why it came as no surprise that her dignity had decided to pull its own disappearing act too.

Maybe if she called in a search and rescue team, some small sliver of decorum could be salvaged. It had obviously camouflaged itself between 'talk to the paw' shirts, comments that alluded to a federal agent's inadequacy, and being wedged between the seats of said agent's freakily-immaculate car.

In short, how did she end up _here_? Even worse, in what logical universe was crouching in the back of a government-owned sedan preferable to attempting conversation?

Honestly, even though she'd been part of it, she was still scratching her head, trying to place what seemed like a random series of events into some semblance of order. Unfortunately, try as she might, it seemed that her only chance of understanding rested on Agent Leonhart – worse yet, it specifically rested on the hope that he'd suddenly be in a talkative mood. She knew what the likelihood of that would be – it didn't take some grad student-level of education to figure out the higher-level math involved. Multiplying anything by zero was still zero – coincidentally 'zero' just happened to be exactly the same percent-chance she had of him volunteering any information.

Unfortunately, she was better off devoting any extra energy on the hopes of riding on a spaceship or even traveling through time; sadly, both of those scenarios remained much more likely than him offering up a two-way conversation.

That's why she was surprised when he let out a small snort. Honestly, she wasn't sure how to interpret that response; the pessimistic side of her thought maybe it was a Leonhart-ish editorial on her abilities to string rather-obvious clues together. Hopefully, she was reading too much into it, but he didn't seem like the 'snorting' type unless it was on purpose.

But he surprised her again; his answer was more than an errant snort.

" _Yes and no. It's all relative, right? I'll survive. Just stay down, but see what types of medical supplies are in there - he was supposed to throw some in. I'll still need to stitch up your arm so it heals correctly."_

By now, she'd pushed herself into a sitting position and started to rifle through the trash bag he'd tossed back.

"Mmm-huh," she responded softly; it was a rather-noncommittal answer, but she'd learned her lesson after her last failed attempt at conversation.

"Don't say anything."

What the ever-loving hell? She couldn't see him, but that didn't stop her from staring at him, or from shooting daggers at him with her eyes. She could only imagine how Quistis put up with this personality, yes he was gorgeous, but that only went so far. God help her if they were the last two people on the planet and her only viable options were Leonhart or an Ochu…Well, the Ochu was looking pretty damn good.

Not to mention that it was just her luck his communications skills had evolved as snorting had graduated into smug commentary. The only reason she hadn't responded with words was because when she did, well, it was snort-inducing…so much for attempting to avoid ridicule.

Why this man infuriated her so much was completely beyond her; she'd never felt so… _uggghh… something_ about another human being. Shaking her head, she decided to take a page from his book and brood silently. If her life wasn't basically in his hands right now… he'd better believe that he'd be at the receiving end of a snarky comment or two. Like telling her "don't say anything," made her want to say the word 'anything' mockingly just to be one of _those_ people.

For obvious reasons, it was best she tried to forget about the man-sized dork in the front seat. So to keep her mind off _him_ , she continued searching through the bag, she did not want to focus on the part about the stitches — but that all went to hell when she found the first aid kit right off the bat, followed by noticing a needle just as quickly when curiosity compelled her to open it. She had no idea why the thought crossed her mind but, she contemplated misplacing the needle somewhere back here, where it could maybe disappear nicely along with her dignity and Leonhart's social skills.

There was a sound… a whack? Smack? Maybe he was hitting the steering wheel in irritation. That wouldn't have been much of a shock; honestly, it was obvious that the both of them weren't exactly comfortable with the situation. In that regards, she decided to cut him a little slack, he'd been thrown into this too without much choice either.

"What did you find?" he said firmly.

It seemed that maybe he felt that way too – he seemed to teeter-totter back and forth on civility, but if he could try again (…and again, and again) she could too.

"Just the stuff for my arm, clothes and, oh wait here's the-"

"Shut up! Damn it. What did I say?" he growled.

This time, he even turned back to face the backseat; whereas before he'd been previously speaking as he drove. He had actually gone out of the way to scold her this time. And that was it, so much for biting back any of her remarks; unfortunately, they'd now bypassed snark and landed directly at pissed. Thankfully, the car had tinted windows and honestly, it wouldn't have mattered much – her adrenaline was fueled by anger and she was tired of being treated like this.

She angrily pushed the blanket off of her, making her way off of the floor as her anger spilled from her mouth.

"Seriously? You selfish son-of-a… are you insane? You just asked me-" it was the first time she saw him and two very important things stood out, she silently whispered to herself, "Shit…"

First, she felt like the biggest fool on the planet. He wasn't talking to her; he was wearing one of those hands-free bluetooth receivers over his ear. She hated those things – and sadly, this was not the first time she'd fallen victim to believing someone was speaking to her, while instead they were having a conversation with someone else entirely. Oddly, both times the user had been a really good-looking guy in a suit. However, in the other instance, she though the man was asking _her_ to coffee – worse yet, she said yes.

Both times when she'd been thwarted by those stupid devices, she wanted to slide to the floor and curse whoever invented those blasted things. This time though, there was something that kept her from doing that and it was the second thing she saw – blood.

It wasn't the same as earlier, not even close, but in that moment her mind wasn't able to process the difference. She blinked a few times trying to compose herself. It was a damn head wound; logic _should_ dictate that there'd be more blood, but unfortunately she lacked the mental capacity to handle the sight and it took all her faculties not to get physically ill right there. Here he was already complaining about sending his suit's dry cleaning bill to Seifer, maybe the detective would also be willing to help to detail the car's upholstery. If she lost this battle, she was going to need help covering the cost.

"Fine. I need to go. Turns out I have _an issue_ that needs nipped in the ass before it gets out of hand."

He placed emphasis on two particular words, but she didn't have the capability to be offended right now. Rinoa couldn't take her eyes of his forehead, although there was a part of her rousing inside, preparing itself to face his wrath. He would be angry, but maybe that's what she needed in some twisted way.

After he was off the phone, she saw him glancing into his rearview mirror. He'd taken his eyes off the road just long enough to study her. They made eye contact; again it was brief as he went back to focusing on the road ahead shortly after.

Now she waited for the inevitable ire… but it didn't come.

"Did you find bandages?" he asked calmly.

She swallowed, caught between the momentary surprise that came from him not losing his temper. "Your head, it looks… _bad_."

"It's not as bad as it looks, I assure you." He glanced back into the mirror, this time being more assertive. "Did you find any bandages?"

"Yeah, sorry, I just… never mind. Here take these, but there's more if you need." Slowly, her hand reached forward to the front seat. She couldn't hide how badly it was trembling. "There's some disinfectant stuff in there too."

He took it without so much as thank you; honestly, she would've been more taken aback if he had. She watched as he removed the jacket from his head; he studied it for a second, mumbling a few random obscenities under his breath, before tossing it on the ground. Rinoa figured he probably tossed the jacket onto the floor to not risk getting blood on the seat.

As she had been leaning forward, her focus had been pulled towards the blood-stained jacket. Again, she'd never been more thankful for skipping meals; she would've lost it right there if she hadn't. No matter how hard she tried, everywhere she turned, there were constant reminders that a war waged inside. Still, for her sanity, she did her damndest to push today's memories to the side… there'd be time to mourn later – a lifetime's worth.

"That's going to cost a fortune to clean," he said in irritation.

And speaking of mourning, or rather of loss, there was another reality _someone_ in this car was going to have to face. Sure, the thought itself was lighthearted in comparison but, for god's sake, that's exactly why it was needed. Sure, it may be construed as inappropriate by the other party and for that reason (and several others) she wouldn't say it out loud. Rinoa believed that Squall was in denial – _major_ denial. It wasn't just a little stain on his suit jacket; it had already flat-lined. That is, unless he had some inexplicable desire to permanently color it crimson or maybe let his inner flower-child loose and tie-dye it, although Cactuars suddenly sprouting wings and flying seemed a far more plausible scenario. Between that and marring Agent Leonhart's face, Seifer was likely going to be the first inhabitant in a still-uncharted level of hell.

"Least the asshole managed to do something right."

Speak of the devil.

She watched in fascination as he squirted some of the antiseptic directly onto his skin. "Seifer… he really did this to you? I thought…well, you know." She did it again. Stupid, stupid Rinoa. He didn't want to do small-talk; Squall Leonhart didn't do 'small talk.' "Never mind… _again_."

And again she watched as he glanced in the rearview mirror but said nothing – this was a habit that was becoming as annoying as hell. It was as annoying as hell. She at least had a clearer picture now – yes, he was upset, but it wasn't about her speaking while he was on the phone, although the misunderstanding probably didn't help matters either. She gathered it was most likely about the large red gash on his forehead. She sensed that very few things fazed him like this had, but she couldn't blame him – he was going to have a permanent reminder of this assignment.

Truthfully, she was also extremely aware that her questions weren't helping – at all. Unfortunately, that was the best way _she_ could deal with her situation. It's also why they clashed; their personalities certainly didn't mesh well. She knew his type - set in his ways and her obvious questions weren't going to change the situation in least. She knew that his mood wasn't going to miraculously change to the point where he'd decide to share his feelings all of a sudden. It bothered her more than she cared to admit, but she also believed there was a more personal component to it – like she'd said or done _something else_ to get on his bad side. Then again, from all the exchanges she'd witnessed firsthand today, getting on his bad side seemed to be a much easier accomplishment then being on his good side. The latter seemed a herculean task - he'd even snapped at Quistis a few times.

"Wonderful," she replied dryly. This was going to be a very long trip and Seifer's Agent Asshole quip was actually rather spot-on. Maybe it was the fact she had a moment to think about it or maybe it was because his head wasn't bleeding any more that let her get past that hurdle. Her earlier irritation was returning, honestly, the jerk had nobody to blame but himself.

She folded her arms and looked out the windows, fully aware she was sitting up. His windows were tinted; she didn't worry about being seen. Ironically, she couldn't be heard either so she could now check 'pretend to be a ghost' off of her 'to-do' list.

"You know Agent Leonhart, I'd ask where we're going, but I already know the answer, very well, in fact. It goes something like - silence, silence, silence, give an irritated glance to the mirror, look away, brood, and then followed by more silence… and keep Rinoa in the dark yet again."

"I need to make a call. Stay down and get me the other gauze."

"Sit. Stay. Rollover," she whispered mockingly although it had been loud enough that there was no doubt he'd heard it. Go figure, the only words he decided to speak to her sounded less like a polite request and more like a command to a dog. Then it hit her and she couldn't help blurting out her thoughts, "Wait, wait where's Angelo?"

The moment it left her mouth, she knew what she'd done. She could see his shoulder go up and down as he took a deep breath. He threw up his hand as if to silence her, but the gesture was moot as she wasn't going to continue. Yeah, she probably deserved that and whatever comment would come next, seeing as she couldn't play innocent about knowing he was going to make a call this time. At this rate, she was going to get on her own bad side by the end of the day.

Sighing, she reached her hand out, holding her palm upright with the other bandages. Honestly, she didn't feel any need for him to rush as her social calendar had some rather extensive gaps.

"It's me." She noticed that he seemed much less harsh this time around, although no more polite. "Yes, and you know how thrilled I am."

As he said the last words, he must have noticed that her hand was out and reached down for the extra bandages. It threw her off simply because one hand was shifting and the other was… well, the other was basically resting in hers for a second. She swallowed a little, not really sure what to do; it seemed that he'd been momentarily distracted by the information he received on the phone, which was fine, because she was distracted too – but obviously not in the same way.

"She's with me. What do you have?"

Mentioning her must've snapped him back into reality. In anger, he snatched the gauze from her hand, although she noted that he didn't look back at her this time. She continued to watch him, seeing what she could learn about his behavior now that it was… well, she'd go with it was a much closer setting. He continued his conversation via the Bluetooth, albeit in the loosest sense of the word as he replied with only one or two words a time. If he was feeling daring, he'd mix it up, managing an entire coherent sentence here and there.

"No he's an asshole, you know the type - lacks respect, gives everyone a nickname. Maybe you should meet him, might be interesting to see what he comes up with for you."

Well, whoever was on the other end of the line knew about her and seemed fairly knowledgeable about their situation. Agent Leonhart's answers were curt, but they were just about as friendly as she'd heard. He trusted whoever it was. At first, she thought it may have been Quistis, but that didn't make much sense – not to mention, Leggy-Fed already had a nickname. Damn Seifer, now that one was forever etched into her mind.

Squall tapped his fingers on the steering wheel again, before making a turn. "Worst case. Not to mention the bastard clocked me a few times. I fucking scarred."

Since the agent had stubbornly refused to answer any questions earlier like a normal human being, Rinoa attempted to use her analytical skills to piece things together.

"The background check?" he asked, continuing to drum his fingers on the steering wheel. "That's exactly what I counted on. Make the one on Watts priority, they aren't even disclosing a real name."

She was surprised; the conversation had evolved from the short replies to near paragraphs – sound the alarms, this conversation with Leonhart could _almost_ pass as normal.

"I know and agree completely. Look, I'll call back and stay on the secure line. I'm waiting from a call back from Director Kramer for further info. It stays between us." There was a small pause, and he nodded his head, the first non-verbal communication she'd seen him use over the phone. "Understood, just give me a minute to verify."

Pulling the car off into the emergency lane, he let it come to a complete stop. She was surprised that he'd not done this at a light, but she knew that there probably was a method to his madness. And without missing a beat, he leaned over, checking the GPS. He actually never inputted a numeral address, but maybe that was some sort of pre-emptive, countermeasure so their whereabouts couldn't be traced? That guess actually seemed rather logical.

She couldn't help being silently impressed with him; ironically, maybe the accolades would go both ways and he wouldn't be able to help himself for being impressed with her – for her silence. Sadly, there was no way to hide the smile that accompanied her thought, but thankfully she was able to control the urge to chuckle. Of course in doing so, as in making a sound, would've cancelled out everything all together. Then again, she wouldn't even touch the fact that she was completely enthralled with his actions.

Right now, he appeared to be scrolling to different areas and suburbs of Timber. He'd wait a given amount of time, about ten seconds or so, before he'd continue on. During these screenshots, his mind seemed like it was elsewhere and, honestly, she believed that he was paying more attention to their current surroundings than the ones on the monitor. Finally, he flipped to a particular area on the GPS that he was genuinely interested in, even the intensity of his posture proved that this one wasn't for show. Using his pointer finger, he moved across the roadways as if he was memorizing a path. It was on the screen the same amount of the time as the others, he then moved to a few more areas, feigning interest as he'd done at first. It was quite ingenious actually, now if anyone pulled the GPS's data, _all_ the areas would show, but there was no doubt that he only cared about one spot in particular.

Actually, she was able to make out the general vicinity. She was familiar with it, having passed through the area from time to time, but never having a reason to go there specifically. Dogwood Heights was on Timber's Upper East Side and was actually a very exclusive area of town – it boasted a slightly-younger demographic as it was made up of new money rather than old. Honestly, she expected to be taken to the docks or the warehouse district, something more in line with all the movies about staying off the radar, but she trusted him.

And there it was again, _that feeling_.

It was the way she felt in between the times of wanting to strangle him, being annoyed with him, and even debating whether to take her chances under Almasy's protection instead. Maybe it was for the best that they weren't headed to the docks as she was in enough of an emotionally-volatile mood to contemplate whacking him with the nearest fish – okay, not that she condoned the use of fish for acts of physical violence but… she was tempted to look the other way as far as Leonhart was concerned. But perhaps, maybe her irritation also hinged on the fact that she'd often found herself stealing glances at him – she didn't want to, but she couldn't help herself. She needed a distraction; she just wished her distraction wasn't so damn good-looking.

"Yeah, for now, I'll keep her close to me."

Damn it, comments like that weren't helping, especially when it was accompanied by eye contact. Even more confusing, he'd picked that time to also glance back to her but, it had happened so quickly, that she actually questioned herself. Maybe it had only been an illusion based on wishful thinking.

Agent Leonhart started driving again as he wrapped up his phone call. "Next time, he'll be sorry - I'll actually try. Later." Rinoa almost thought there was some humor present in his tone; it was faint, but there was definitely something there. Even more surprising, he said goodbye… well goodbye in not so many words.

Rinoa was shocked. She didn't even realize that her earlier thought about Angelo had been replaced by genuine curiosity into the social life or faux-social life of Agent Leonhart. She knew he wasn't the type to be bothered with basic pleasantries. Of course, she wasn't idiotic enough to ask a question that was going to fall on deaf ears; there were only so many times that she could be ignored before it started to feel personal. Honestly, she'd rather go back to the floor and curl back up into a fetal position than attempt another conversation with him.

Little did she know, she was going to hit the floor anyhow, albeit not literally.

"That was my old partner. He transferred to cyber-crimes two years ago. He's annoying as hell, but trustworthy."

After she picked herself off the preverbal floor, she wanted to burst out laughing. There was honestly no other way to explain any of this besides a few possible options. First, maybe it was a rather vivid imagination on her part. Next, the head trauma theory was starting to hold a lot of credence. Finally, yet somehow the frontrunner, perhaps he was so socially-inept (or held such a macabre sense of humor) that he only attempted conversation with people when they'd clearly given up on him.

Of course, she knew none those theories were serious (well, the humor one held the _slightest_ possibility) and as the shock had begun to fade, so her momentary happiness. Seriously? This 'only telling her when it was convenient for him' bit was getting old. Maybe she shouldn't look a gift Chocobo in the mouth but, he'd pushed her to this and there was only so much she could take before she had to start pushing back.

"Why now? Why did you decide to start talking to me now? Why is it only when I throw my hands up in surrender and give up on any type of civil relationship that you do this? You bark orders like I'm one of your military cadets and seriously, how was I to know you were making a phone call the first time? I get that communication isn't something you want to do with a _suspect_ , but I'm thrown into this too, you know. It's like, one minute, I think you understand, moreover that you _want_ to understand. I was even foolish enough to think that we're building some sort of trust but not even a minute later you go all… _you_."

She took a deep breath, surprised how after she said the first thing, the rest of the words felt like a waterfall cascading from her mouth. Honestly, she could've said a lot more, but she didn't want to cause enough damage to the point where it was irreversible.

"Agent Leonhart, I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate what you're doing for me or the fact that you just told me that… I do appreciate it. I have no idea how I even got here or how you guys managed this… or who I can trust. I thought, I thought that-" she swallowed, trying not to tear up for the umpteenth time today, but it was difficult not to get emotional under the circumstances. "I know you don't understand… honestly, you can't. To you, I'm just another assignment that you're not going to remember in ten years, but today… my life changed. I can't explain it but… I knew in the break room, when I finally told you what Watts had said – _I knew._ So, please, if you can answer one question of mine, please tell me why you're telling me anything now?"

She didn't expect a response, at least not a polite one. Instead, all she could think about were the same questions that plagued her during all that time alone in the car. She still couldn't piece anything together and it was frustrating to be completely lost and in the dark. Truthfully, he didn't seem like the type who'd be even willing to toss her flashlight, not even if he had an extra; instead, he'd just order to be un-lost. To top all that off, she had some sort of life-changing epiphany that her mind struggled to understand. It was something she felt – a single moment that she'd never forget; it was haunting in its simplicity, yet frightening in his complexity.

Call it a moment of serendipity or call it clairvoyance but, simply put… everything had changed.

And by 'everything,' she meant _everything_.

Okay, yes, she knew that _might've_ come across as some overdramatic blanket statement that sounded like a badly-written screenplay. Whatever it was, she didn't like it – what she liked was to be able to label her own feelings. This feeling had started as a seed in the break room, but now had fully grown, taking root.

And it started with a question - _his question._

After he'd given her his wallet and a sliver of trust, Agent Leonhart asked again about what Watts said. He looked her in the eyes and told her he wanted no more _I can'ts_ – that was it, the beginning of everything. His eyes held no malice. If anything, she saw an unexplainable concern. No matter how crass he'd come off, there was something about him…he cared. He might not have even liked that fact, but she believed that the sentiment was actually there. People have looked at her for her entire life, but nobody had ever seen her for who she truly was, not even Zone, but he did. Maybe she was wrong – maybe this belief was no more than a leap of faith.

There were others she could've told to stay out of jail - Seifer and Quistis immediately came to mind. That's why she knew that she didn't have to answer _him_ , she didn't have to trust _him_ – but something snapped inside her — she _wanted_ to. While it hadn't changed the case, she felt as if it had somehow altered the course of her life. It made no sense, but emotions rarely did.

Watts had said not to trust anyone in Timber. He'd given false information as decoy that had been leaked – even his boss hadn't known it was fake. He believed that the corruption went beyond the DEA and her life was already in danger. For a month straight, he spent his time worrying, trying to figure out who to trust. He'd purposely spent more time around Zone and Rinoa, believing her friend was tied-in somehow, but Watts couldn't figure it out. He warned her to watch who she trusted; _nobody_ was above suspicion, not his boss, or any of his colleagues.

That's all he'd managed, before struggling to say his goodbyes to Erica and the rest of his family. It was bittersweet with the both of them knowing that Rinoa couldn't relay the messages without compromising herself, but the words were spoken from his heart. It was of little conciliation, but at least they hadn't gone unheard.

That's what she told Squall and he listened. She watched as he'd gone to the backdoor and stared outside for a long time. Finally, he pulled out his mobile phone, again without explaining anything to her. Well, that wasn't entirely true; he said he knew one person they could trust. He hadn't given her a reason beyond that, she believed he would in time. He'd spoken softly into the phone, so she couldn't decipher a lot, but the unlikely duo appeared to be working together on a means of escape. Hanging up, he'd made a second call to another person, which she now believed to be his former partner.

Then, things got a tad more confusing, as if they weren't enough already. He continually checked his watch as if he was timing something. Then, a few minutes after, he received a second call. And that was all it took - the plan had been set into motion. He'd walked over to where she was seated at the table, motioning to get up and follow. She did. Logic dictated that she was going into the police station, but it wasn't the case. He did some finagling to the security system on the emergency door as she remained beside him. Reflecting back on the situation, she believed that her job was to shield him on the off chance someone decided to unlock the main door. Quistis seemed like the time to worry, calling in the cavalry if she became concerned enough about his wellbeing. It wasn't long after that when he nodded to someone outside and told her that she could trust him, before giving explicit instructions to do whatever was asked of her.

From there, Squall looked her in the eyes, as if he was trying to reassure her, and said to wait for him in the car, promising that he'd be there eventually. Rinoa knew that he wasn't the type to make promises. Part of her _wanted_ to believe that he'd broken his own rules just to give her a little peace and comfort. It worked – she strangely felt better.

After she left the break room, she heard the faint sounds of Squall yelling inside and she couldn't help the smile. The guy was having a conversation with himself; it was all smoke and mirrors for the guards - Rinoa was already gone.

Rinoa's escort had taken her the long way around to the sedan. He'd easily known how to circumvent the parking lot cameras, giving her the feeling that it was by design. After they'd made to the car, she thanked him and gave him a hug – he did the same. Once inside, her only instructions were to stay down and wait - besides those rather vague pieces of advice, she was on her own. One last thing, before he'd taken off, he'd handed her the blanket that she'd used before. It didn't really bother her until later. In the confined space, the smell of smoke absorbed into the blanket became overwhelming. It made her sick, but she did her best to hold herself together; she couldn't stop the tears however. Each time there was a voice, a car door shutting, or an unexpected noise, she'd involuntary tense. If someone really wanted her dead, this was the perfect opportunity. Her only solace was in Squall's words, he'd promised her and as stupid as it was, it was the only thing she could to hold onto. And she did just that.

While thinking about him made it easier somehow, got her through even, it didn't make the tears stop. Without anything else to focus on, she noticed how clean his car was. Honestly, she'd never seen a cleaner floor mat in her life. To be fair, she'd actually never inspected one this up close and personal. Of all the stupid things, it was thinking of how absurdly-clean the car was that brought on another faint smile. She could picture Agent Leonhart having a small heart attack just by walking into her and Zone's apartment. It wasn't dirty per se, but it wasn't clean either – it was sort of in a perpetual state of disarray, but it was home.

_Was home,_ past tense. She'd known that from the moment she looked into Agent Leonhart's eyes – everything _had_ truly changed. There was no going back, _ever._ They could try to tell her anything they wanted, but she couldn't deny what she somehow knew inside.

But laying here on this floorboard, and all the steps it took for her to get here, she found out one very important thing – she wasn't the only one making a leap of faith.

When the car door finally opened and she knew it was him, it was such a relief; she didn't feel as scared, she didn't feel as alone. She had to remind herself of that now; it didn't matter that he didn't answer her questions – he'd taken a leap of faith to get here too. She had to remember that. Maybe it had taken her a roundabout way to make that realization, but she'd gotten there. Maybe if she'd figured it out a few minutes sooner, she wouldn't have gone off on him and she wouldn't have felt horrible like she was now.

But before she could open her mouth to apologize, to say that she understood – he was going to make sure she knew. He wasn't yelling, he wasn't speaking to her with malice. It was the same tone he'd used when he'd spoken to Quistis in the kitchenette.

"Look, I don't know what you expect me to say. I understand that you think you're owed answers and maybe you are to an extent. I don't claim that our situations are the same, but I'm still trying to piece this together myself. Please believe me, I understand you went through a traumatic experience and loss – and I'm not trying to dismiss that, but you need to look at this from my point of view. I was on my way home when I received a call that was apparently at the request of your father, and four hours later, I gambled my entire career on your words. So if I'm hesitant in what I say, understand I also have a stake in how this turns out. I'm not going to get into the possibility that other undercover agents are at risk." Again, he looked at her in the mirror, but this time she didn't mind. "For the record Miss Heartilly, I'll officially state that you're not a suspect to me – I don't risk my career for suspects."

"Thank you."

"…I didn't give you any actual answers to your questions," he replied, confused that she'd be appeased so easily.

"No, you didn't, but you gave me your reasons and that's better than feeling well, like… well, the way I felt."

"I couldn't tell you earlier where we were going because I just found out. I've just been buying time by driving around, trying to be anywhere besides where we were. Given the circumstances, I couldn't trust anyone here in Timber, so I called someone I could - my former partner. Even if he's as annoying as shit, I'd trust him with my life - just not my lunch. He's made temporary arrangements at the Regent Hotel for the night. Apparently the universe shares Seifer's sardonic sense of humor. He'll be sending the rest of the info to my computer. I can look it up after we check-in."

She had no idea what his lunch comment meant or his statement about the shared sense of humor, which was fine, because understanding either of those wasn't what she'd become hung-up on. "We're going to a hotel… you and me. I mean, as in _us_?"

He sighed, yet somehow he knew that he'd get this reaction. It would only be for tonight. His ex-partner was working on securing a suitable apartment that could be used more long term. Also, there was one extremely-important factor in his book - they wouldn't be alone. Well, at least not the entire night.

"Detective Almasy is most likely weaseling his way in with Agent Trepe to lead the investigation on your disappearance. At least, that's the plan. But don't worry, he'll be there later, so I'm sure you'll feel more comfortable with him around. Not to mention, he and I have score to settle."

Of course, he wouldn't. The last thing Squall wanted to do was draw attention. Plus, Seifer was only following the plan, even if he did cross the line into a personal vendetta. Then again, Squall wasn't exactly innocent in the fight either.

Their goal had been to make the fight look as real as possible – mission accomplished… and then some.


	11. Smiles and Regret…

__

(Image by [Ronin-ai](http://wib-challenge-group.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d5r3u0j))

 

_ 7:21 pm, October 10th _

It was already dark – one of the few positives about Timber in Squall's opinion. Given the season and the time difference, the sunset hit approximately an hour and half before this time in Deling City. Though if he stopped to think about it, there was something about _this_ dusk that made it seem to pass unnaturally-quick. He could say that was probably an illusion caused by the city's lights, as he usually paid more attention to things like that, but truthfully, he had different things on his mind – like his career.

Still, he was glad it was night since he somehow felt as if he could think more clearly. He couldn't explain it, but even from the earliest memories that he could recall, he always felt more at ease after the sun went down. He guessed that wasn't exactly a common trait with younger children, given that normal kids often associated nighttime with _bedtime_ and being forced to sleep, but all he associated it with was peace. Back then, he lived outside the city and sometimes would go into a nearby field to really feel alone.

For him, this was a good thing; there was a certain calming effect that he only found beneath the stars. It was the realization that all of life's problems were truly insignificant within the universe's grand scheme. Even as child, he approached at life from an entire different perspective. He had always made it a mission not to dwell in the past, going as far as trying to put certain aspects of his life behind him. But every once a while those memories slipped through, like tonight of all times.

Shaking his head, he didn't want to think about that, but it was still better than thinking about the alternative, namely something along the lines of what the hell he'd just done. He told himself that those decisions were in the past and thinking about it now was just a waste of time.

Again, speaking of time - nighttime also had another added benefit, at least for a person who found solace in being alone. When most of the world had fallen to sleep, he had just started to feel alive. His college roommate would get annoyed with his nocturnal habits, leading to a series of jokes about his vampire-ish behavior. Although it was good-natured ribbing, it was the final push that Squall needed to move off campus – not that it took much.

Once he left those dorms, he never looked back. Learning the hierarchy of college socializing, or socializing in general, was very far down on his 'to do' list – right alongside being strapped down in a hospital during a zombie invasion or trapped in a marathon scrapbooking session with his father – and make no mistake about it, the former was preferable to the latter. Even today, both zombies and scrapbooking rated higher on Squall's scale than socializing with any peer group. That, like his fondness of the night, hadn't changed, not even now.

Speaking of the _now_ – their situation perfectly illustrated why nighttime was far from an Eden; from the perspective of law enforcement, it often served as a background for crimes. As an agent, he was always busy at night as there was never a shortage of human indecency. Timber was no exception.

That's one of the reasons he'd remained on the outskirts, aimlessly driving in circles. His senses had been heightened, a common side-effect from harboring an _alleged_ fugitive in the car.

He remained vigilant in that regard despite not having even seen any marked or unmarked patrol cars. He'd even turned on his police scanner, although the sound was serving more as white noise more than anything. As of now, there'd been no mention of her or the search, although they both knew it had kicked into high gear.

At least he now had a destination; he hated the fact that he'd been out in open all the while, forced into playing a waiting game and the next move couldn't be his, but relief had finally arrived when his former partner called. He'd never been so glad to hear Agent Dincht's voice – a thought that possibly signaled the beginning of Armageddon.

As a secondary sign of impending doom, not only did he have a direction to drive in, Heartilly had stopped bombarding him with questions. For a while, it felt as though each time he inhaled to breathe, she'd throw another question at him. That had become real old, real quick. Fine, _maybe every breath_ was a tad exaggerated but, to be fair, playing well with others was never exactly one of his strong suits either. This also carried into his professional career, but thankfully he was able to prove his abilities based on their own merits.

Two years ago, after the Shumi Village incident, his superiors had given him the opportunity to work alone. It was unorthodox, and he had accepted risks in doing so, but he had proven his worth and his skills outweighed the negatives. For what it was worth, they still managed to part on semi-decent terms, professionally. Squall wasn't about to invite the guy over to watch the game, drink a beer, and barbeque a pack of hotdogs. Again, to be fair, he didn't have the desire to that with anyone.

He had no idea why he'd thought so much of his past. Maybe it was just the thought that it could all be over. For the first time, his future had some degree of uncertainty. It wasn't like him to wing it and he'd never done anything like this without prior authorization. He could sit here and hope that Assistant Director Kramer would understand or he could put it behind him, moving forward after proving to that his actions were warranted under the circumstances.

By now they were getting into a more populated area of town. He knew that they needed to avoid suspicion so he decided on doing the obvious. She'd been so quiet that he had to glance back to make sure she was still conscious. Because it had grown darker, he couldn't make her out in full detail. Still, his eyes had adjusted enough so he could make out a definitive outline. That was, unless they passed a stray light source, which is what he purposely waited for as he looked back.

Clearing his throat, he began, "Without looking suspicious, get up into the front seat and put your seatbelt on."

"Oh sure, no problem." It didn't surprise him that the first words out of her mouth in a while were sarcastic.

Honestly, he was thinking she'd either go with sarcasm or spite, but was glad she'd chosen the lesser of the two, especially after listening to his own words. The tone had been more or less accidental but, if the situation had been reversed, he probably wouldn't have taken the higher road.

Then again, that's how he spoke. Friendly communication wasn't exactly part of his wheelhouse. And with some people, every word out of his mouth could have been interpreted as an order – though this time, it technically _was_ one. Unfortunately, as easy as it was to accidently give an order, it appeared it was equally as easy to set her off - so much for her complying with him and doing things the simple way.

"I'm sure pulling over is out of the question, right Agent Leonhart? And it's totally easy _not_ to act inconspicuous while attempting to climb over the seat of a moving vehicle. I know this may surprise you, but I'm twenty-three, not three. But sure, yeah, that won't look suspicious at all… So, again, no _prob_. I'll jump right on that – or right _over_ it. Whatever."

Years of training taught him how to diffuse a situation like this, minimizing collateral damage, if not avoiding it all together. Yet for some inexplicable reason, he threw logic right out the window, and decided on the lesser-taught approach of 'top ten things _not_ to do.' You know, like purposely provoking the person you're trying to appease.

There was something he found entertaining about antagonizing her… he wasn't proud. Not at all. He also wasn't proud of not allowing sleeping Grendels to lie, like bring up her earlier faux pas in this instance; if she could imply that he 'added a few inches' then, in all fairness, he could subtract a few inches from her. Maybe she wasn't really short-short but it sorta went along with her rather inexplicable observations about his height – at least this is what he'd convinced himself. Maybe she wasn't the only one who decided against taking the simple way…

"Well, Miss Heartilly, I assumed crawling over the seats wouldn't be difficult for you because of your natural advantage, being vertically challenged and all."

He heard an audible gasp; again, he had no idea why he'd said it and suddenly realized just how sorry he'd be.

"Was that a… short joke, really? Where did that even come from? Fine, I get it -I'm not some Amazon towering above everyone. But seriously… _what_? I mean, you literally pulled that out of the air."

"Yes, I _literally_ did _,"_ he said, mocking her incorrect use of the word.

Was he serious? This man was infuriating. "I know I used the word wrong. Figure of speech and all."

"Wow. I thought that, like most things, that would've gone right over your head." He made a sound akin to a snort. Honestly, he found that he had to – he'd almost laughed when she let out a disgruntled yelp.

"Snort it up _Fed-Boy_ , I'm not that short! I'm like normal, or _normalish_ …" she growled, using Seifer's pet name to spite him (yes, she'd now taken the lower road, albeit deservedly.)

For added effect, she followed up by a whacking the back of his seat with her hand. It wasn't the smartest move, but she had no idea why he was having fun at her expense. Honestly, she was five three… or five four on a good day. Okay, maybe she felt a tad on the 'shorter' side, especially standing next to Quistis… in heels. Somehow, those two or three inches suddenly made a lot of difference, especially because he apparently thought she was too short or something. If she didn't already feel insecure enough today, now he'd brought her height into the equation.

"Feisty, aren't we? Your file neglected to mention that you clearly have a _short_ fuse – but I do recall it stating that you were _'normal-ish'_ in height and prone to making up words…. or maybe prone to adding a few inches. I'll have to go back and check."

"You are such an ass." It was then that his meaning had clicked; he'd been referencing the whole driver's license debacle. Now she had this innate need to correct herself. "So sorry, I meant to say that you're _literally_ an ass."

Even though he couldn't see her, he pictured her sitting there, arms folded as she did her best to look irritated. The thing was – she wasn't. He'd heard her when she was upset - quite a bit actually, but this wasn't it. He also couldn't say why he'd continued to be the instigator, except in one regard, it gave insight into her strength of character. His mind quickly settled on that fact - that this entire exchange had been a ruse. Actually, he'd have to commend himself on a rather clever way to gain knowledge.

He suddenly realized that his lips had curled into a rather obvious smirk, probably not the typical reaction to being called an ass. He did his best to play it off.

"Miss Heartilly, that fact has been brought to my attention many times, but thank you for reminding me." He purposely acted like it had been some sort of a compliment, again to irritate her. Still, as enjoyable as this was – in a purely work-related, information-gathering way - he was smart enough to know when to stop pushing his luck. "Now can you try to get up here?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," she mumbled under her breath. She tried to convince herself that his comments were merely about earlier and he really didn't think that she was too short. Not that height should have mattered - some of her best friends had barely hit five-foot and nobody cared. Why should she of all the stupid times? Again, it was ridiculous to let that of all the things to bother her. Still, she couldn't help it, and the question, like so many others tonight, slipped out her mouth before she could stop herself.

"…Do you… do you really think I'm too short?"

Now she felt like an even bigger fool. The only conciliation was that he hadn't given her an answer yet, which might've been a good thing. However, Rinoa knew this was probably going to end badly when she saw him visibly shaking his head at her question. Now she prayed he didn't respond, unfortunately, he didn't see it the same way.

"Miss Heartilly, yours or anyone's height is the furthest thing from my mind. Honestly, there are no right or wrong heights and your height makes as much difference to me as mine does to you… For the record, the average height of an adult male, ages 20 to 29, from Deling City is 5'10." It's 5'4 ½" for a woman of the same age. With me, even if you go with 5'8" or 5'9", I'm below the average and going on Deling's numbers, so are you… To put it in your terms, we're both slightly below _normal-ish_."

Squall still wondered why she had this fixation on heights or if he was jumping to conclusions. It also made him realize if she was really hung up on a taller man, she was in luck. "However, it seems that your _friend_ Seifer is a couple of inches above average – at least that makes him above average on something." Fine, maybe the added dig at Detective Almasy wasn't _needed_ , but it felt necessary in that moment. "Feel better?"

Yes, yes for some odd reason it really was better. Not to mention the way he put it – both being below normal-ish - she couldn't help but smile. Covering her mouth so he couldn't see, she had to ask one rather poignant thing, "Why in the world would you possibly know that off the top of your head?"

"First, I'm pretending that 'top of your head' wasn't a slight at my height. Second, it's because it's my job."

"Wait, how is that possibly… you know what, never mind, again. I give up on trying to understand you. It's just like you're some walking contradiction or something." She paused, realizing her own mistake. "Yeah, yeah, I get it – I made no sense."

"Literally," he deadpanned before easing up, "Now, would you kindly stop arguing and get up here?"

"Since you asked so nicely." She'd been half-serious, but for him, that actually qualified as a rather polite request.

Of course, now that she agreed, it also meant she'd have to go through with this little stunt. Honestly, her reasoning for dragging her feet in the sand wasn't _exactly_ what she'd led him to believe. No, it was the fact that she was going to end up looking like a major fool – sadly there was no maybe about it. All the ballet and gymnastics lessons were money wasted; once she got off the stage or the mats, she had the grace of an Iron Giant dancing the lead in Swan Lake. Add nerves on top of that and it was the recipe for a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The car seats no longer looked normal; instead, they'd suddenly morphed into one of those high wall-obstacles that had always eluded her on the obstacle course at school. Normally, she wouldn't feel so intimidated about this. In fact if it had been her friends, she would've hurdled over them immediately, albeit still with the poise of an Iron Giant.

Her friends. She couldn't help the pang of nostalgia, thinking if Zone or Watts told her to high-tail it over. She'd fall. They'd laugh. She'd grumble, stick her tongue out, and call them meanies before admitting that, yes, she was the world's largest dork. Then they'd move on, but somehow their laughter would remain a positive memory.

No fuss, no muss.

However, when she worried too much or tried too hard, things often became, to put it mildly - _bad_. Very, horribly, embarrassingly, painstakingly, toss-in-several-other-adjectives-here, bad. If this had anybody but Agent Leonhart, she would've done it when it was first asked, but it was _him_.

She'd have to sort through _that_ issue later as right now she had another issue to deal with. Fine, to be fair, it was one of many issues, but maybe all of this wasn't her fault. In the last hour, she felt more like a contortionist and an acrobat than somebody supposedly under federal protection. If _this_ was the way the government handled things - well, it explained a lot of about Galbadia's problems. She'd never been to Esthar, but she had to believe that their newly-elected leader, Adel something-or-other, had to be more competent than this. She also had to wonder what his version of holding someone in custody would be like.

"Are you coming up here? Sometime this millennia, Miss Heartilly."

Great. Now Agent Grumpy was getting grumpier and this mountain-versus-molehill thing happening in front of her was probably going to turn into a rather lethal combination.

"…Are you sure you couldn't pull over, maybe?"

"No."

" _Meanie,"_ she muttered under her breath.

"Excuse me?" He had to wonder if they'd circled back to that. If he was forced to babysit Caraway's kid any longer, he'd demand a pay raise.

"Sorry, my bad – Agent Meanie." Honestly, she had no idea why she'd said that. Maybe it was on the off chance it'd force him to pull over and yell at her properly or something.

'That's better. Now get your ass up here."

…Or maybe not. Shit. Now or never, leap of faith, happy-positive thoughts and all that other mumbo-jumbo.

So she leaned up, trying to figure out the best way to do this, cursing the fact that the headrests stuck out rather high – _legitimately_ a little bit high, not just her molehill thing. There was enough space to squeeze through, but she was keen on keeping her distance. However, getting close to him seemed inevitable. Placing a hand on either seat, she tried to get into a crouching position on the backseat. After putting one foot on the front arm rest, she propelled herself forward, holding on to the seats for balance and dear life.

Finally, she was on the arm rest, wedged in-between the seats (oddly, she swore she saw her dignity fall further between the seat – it was officially never going to be found) She was nearly home free when her hand slipped and she started falling towards the windshield. He reached up, grabbing her with a little more force than either of them had expected – most likely because they were two opposing forces in motion. Likely, he was worried that she was going to knock the car out of gear so he overcompensated. The last thing she wanted to do was end up on his lap or in any other rather vicarious position. With that thought, she overcorrected herself, shifting all her weight away from him. Quickly, she realized that she was going to fall backwards onto the passenger seat - thankfully that was the better of the two options. However, before it could end with only liberal sprinkling of embarrassment, she had to go all out. As she fell, she couldn't stop the momentum, and her foot flew up, hitting him square in the jaw.

"Agent Leonhart, I-" she squealed, not quite sounding human.

"Shit!" he'd cut her off, groaning as reached up with his now-free hand to cover his mouth. "Goddamn it… and now I have a bloody lip. Lovely."

By now, she'd managed to return to an upright, seated position rather than continuing her imitation of a turtle on its back. The thought of blood actually didn't cross her mind in that moment so her instincts snapped into action. She remembered the bandages and reached into the backseat for the garbage bag full of supplies. Unfortunately for him, it was that rare moment when they were on the same wavelength and he had a similar idea. Turning slightly, his only intent was to judge how far away the bag was. Before he knew what happened, a hand collided with the side of his face, managing to land a semi-decent punch.

She retracted her hand so quickly that one would've thought it had been burned by fire. All she could do was cover her mouth, looking horrified at what she'd just done. Honestly, the turtle thing had been the result she'd unfortunately expected - assaulting a federal officer, then following it up with a right hook _was not_.

"Oh God, Agent Leonhart, I'm so, so sorry." She mentally kept repeating the single word 'sorry' in her head. She found that after being in his company for the span of less than nine hours, sorry had became her official mantra.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked exasperated, looking upward as if he was voicing his concerns to the heavens. "I swear to whatever cosmic entity that's screwing with me or trying to prove some lesson in karma – message received. I'll never leave a seminar again. Hell, I'll never attend one again."

It wasn't a breakdown by any means, but for Squall, it was close. It seemed that everything from about noon forward felt uncharacteristic to him. Of course, the woman sitting next to him didn't know that, but it didn't matter. She didn't need to know anything more about him. He'd already shared more today than the last decade _combined_ and look exactly where that got him - bruised, beaten, bloody, and with his luck, permanently scarred.

This is why he didn't do 'nice.'

Again, it had been a momentary release and he was able to compose himself just as quickly. He wasn't proud, but he wasn't about to dwell on something that couldn't be changed - just like every other detail about this damn assignment. Although this case had produced an accidental milestone – this was the first time in history where he looked forward to doing the paperwork. Once he placed his signature on the final document, he planned to celebrate with an imported bottle of wine he'd received after his last promotion. He'd been saving it for the perfect occasion, and finally getting rid of the spawn-of-Caraway seemed like cause for celebration.

Swallowing, he had to glance away, that was cruel, even for him. He had no idea why he'd thought that – his only consolation was that he hadn't had the gall to say it out loud. Still, he now found himself treading into unfamiliar territory - it wasn't like him to feel guilt over something he'd only thought.

"…Are you going to speak to me again? I understand if you don't. Really."

He immediately recognized the inflection in her tone; it came across so soft and timid… desperate even. The only other time he'd heard her speak like that was at the initial crime scene when she'd still been in the later stages of shock. Even later when she was in the cell, it was never like this – although she'd spoken softly at times then, it was rooted in a combination of acceptance and disappointment. That wasn't the same at all, which only made his pangs of guilt worsen.

It didn't matter how much he fought against his own instincts, it appeared as if the part of himself determined to check on her was winning. Between the driving itself and keeping their entire surroundings in check, checking on someone who at worst had their 'feelings hurt' seemed pointless. Still, he couldn't help but feel that he was responsible.

As he turned, he could see her better now, but face-to-face was a lot more uncomfortable than errant glances in the rearview mirror. He could only look for a second or two, but that had been long enough. True to form, his timing had been as _fortuitous_ as it had been throughout this entire day. It would've been better if he hadn't seen it, and he only had because they'd passed under a streetlamp, but he clearly saw the panic in her eyes. He knew that unyielding hint of desperation, the kind that feared she'd just lost her last friend on this planet because she'd offended him somehow. He didn't want to be her friend; he never signed on to be anybody's friend.

 _Screw all of this,_ he growled to himself as he looked back to the road. That headache was coming back with vengeance and he needed to get a hold of Director Kramer, sort this out, call in someone to take his place, and then get the hell away from this town. He never asked for this responsibility; Squall never asked to be placed in a position to protect anybody, let alone her... then again, neither did she.

Damn it. That thought pained him even more; he was taking his anger out on her and it wasn't as if she'd purposely asked to be placed into this situation either. He was sitting here, cursing his luck, complaining about the inconvenience and yet, she'd lost so much more today, possibly everything. Stepping back really put everything into perspective; it pained him to admit it but, Seifer had called it perfectly - he really was being a grade-A asshole.

And since Squall found himself going down this path of enlightenment and in the midst of some unlikely epiphany, he might as well be completely truthful - Rinoa Heartilly wasn't some spawn of Caraway. Okay, _maybe_ biologically that still held true, but as a person, she was far from it. Hell, she'd even tried to disavow her father – going so far as dropping his surname, something he understood all too well. Actually, he couldn't see any traces of her father in her, which he considered a positive – she'd be especially glad to know that, but he wasn't about to open that can of worms.

He still hadn't responded to her and maybe he should've but, it fell under the umbrella of things he wasn't comfortable doing. Some people could jump right in, knowing all the right words to say. He didn't. He should've been satisfied - she was in the front after all. That's all he'd asked of her. Now, all he could do was look over, making sure she was still all right.

As they drove under the streetlamps, it gave off an almost strobe-like effect. Now when the light hit, he could see that she'd bunched herself into the corner. With her hand over her mouth, she looked scared and he convinced himself that he had to do something, he couldn't have her breaking down, again that's what he told himself. When they'd reached a stoplight, he looked over again, more than a glance this time.

Surprising not only her, but also himself, he did something that neither the heavens or karma could've expected - _he smiled_.

"Guess you were right, I should've pulled over. Did anyone ever tell you that you have the grace of an Iron Giant?"

Rinoa was in utter shock over everything that just happened - from conquering her molehill, drawing blood by hitting him but, most of all, it was from his reaction. She'd only met Agent Leonhart a few hours before but, even within that short time, she understood his military-esque personality quite well. And it was because of that Rinoa knew that, without a doubt, she was in the presence of a very rare phenomenon. It could've been a meteor shower or a total solar eclipse, or something else that was wholly as uncommon, yet just as amazing. Even if there was a small amount of blood trickling from his lip, the sight was absolutely beautiful. She realized that the blood still bothered her, it always would, but by comparison… it didn't seem so bad.

She did the only thing she could think of in the situation; she turned away and looked forward. Maybe he'd believe that all of a sudden she had become overly concerned in his driving. She started to lower her hands to her lap but, as an afterthought, reached up to grab for her safety-belt. As the metal clicked into place, she couldn't help the small, private laugh that escaped her lips. Of _all_ the possible examples in this entire universe, he chose to call her an Iron Giant. Well, _not technically_ , just comparing her grace to one. She should've been offended, but she couldn't get over the coincidence. It was just one of those random thoughts she'd had as a child, but that's the thing – it was a thought rather than something she'd actually voiced and yet, he'd used her exact words.

Her eyes remained forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking at him a she spoke. "Actually, that's been brought to my attention many times."

It was the second time she'd turned his words around on him; it was also the second time that he'd done something neither of them could've anticipated – _he laughed._ The moment didn't last long but, like his smile, it had been born in honesty. In all truthfulness, it was also something that he couldn't remember doing in years and it was refreshing.

The light turned green and he shook his head as he stepped on the gas, maybe getting his ass handed to him back at the station had some rather unusual side-effects. Then again, she'd also managed to leave her own mark or two, so maybe there really were some residual effects, like laughter - a medically-induced reason seemed like the most-plausible explanation.

He needed to stop this, all aspects of it. They were far from out of the woods and he'd be the first to admit that he wasn't feeling like he was on the top of his game. The sooner they got to the hotel, the sooner he could sort things out with his boss.

"Miss Heartilly, I'll defer the right of way of checking the backseat solely to you. I thought it'd be best to devise a plan to avoid any further cheap shots from the passenger's seat. But first, don't move, I'm going to reach down."

She wasn't sure what he'd meant, but as he reached over to the floor of the passenger side, she understood. He'd grabbed his blood-covered jacket and tossed it behind her onto the backseat floor. It was now out of her sight.

He shrugged his action off, preemptively stopping any 'thank yous.' Emotionally, she'd been through a lot already been emotional enough and, if it could be helped, it was preferable not to deal with it again – he decided it had been a purely a selfish move.

"Now if you can reach for the bag, I can try to do something about my lip."

She knew he was referring to the blood, so she did as he instructed without giving him a hassle - she figured owed him that much, seeing as he was trying to be nice after all… or at least that's how she chose to interpret his actions. Yes, it might've been because she was under his protection and he wanted to keep her calm, but she wanted to believe the best in people, even grumpy agents. She started rummaging through the bag for the bandages, but he stopped her.

"I'm fine. My lip's already stopped bleeding, nothing like earlier. I actually wanted you to grab it for another reason. One of the things that he was supposed to put in there was a hat. I want you to find it and then put it on."

She'd looked up in time to see him closing his visor's mirror, wiping off any remaining spots of blood with his sleeve. He'd probably just placed his shirt into the same category as his jacket - written off as a lost cause. Again, she followed his instructions, he'd earned some leeway as a victim of her clumsiness.

As for the hat, it was easy enough to spot. When the car drove under a light, she could make out that it was robin's egg blue, which she hoped was a good omen as she'd always been partial to lighter shades of blue. But when she took it out and flipped it around, things took a very, very ugly turn.

Yes, Agent Leonhart earned _some_ leeway, but it wasn't anywhere close to forgive this atrocity.

It wasn't like she'd mistakenly cut off an appendage or something.

"Oh, no, no, no way… I can't. _I won't._ You expect me to put this monstrosity on my head? You don't understand _this_ qualifies as high treason! I'm a Galbadia Bears fan through and through…" She made sure to over-annunciate her next words, "And, yes, while _I physically-live-in-Timber_ , my hockey loyalty is still firmly planted in Deling."

So, she'd dropped the hat in her lap, holding her hands up as if it had been some type of toxic poison. Fine, overkill, but everyone had their breaking points. And truthfully, it felt good to be herself again, if only for these few seconds.

"Agent Leonhart, you don't want to even get me started on how Timber's hockey team sucks… They won like, _one_ game in three years and that was only because the other team ended up with really bad food poisoning. The owner wouldn't even allow a forfeit and rumor has it that the entire team had to leave the ER to get to the ice rink on time. It was because of some stupid technicality still in the rule books, but that's how classless the owner is - Wil something or other. I just refer to him as a full-fledged donkey butt. The game was like the equivalent of playing against zombies on ice, and not the good kind of zombies either… because good zombies would still kick their butts. Hell, even mediocre zombies would. Seriously, after so many horrible seasons, there's no fathomable reason why the Owls are still around."

Squall learned something very important – hockey opinions, she had them.

But to be fair, he remembered that game, or rather having it permanently etched into his brain as his former partner had rambled on _and on_ about how unfair it was to Balamb. That had been his home town, as he liked to point out every five minutes or when his mother called him – once it had been during a stakeout. Squall did his best for forget that, just as he'd tried to do about the hockey game, but to no avail. He still could recall the basics no matter how hard he tried to forget. Balamb's hockey team - aptly named the Frozen Fish - had ironically been victims of the "Badam fish." No, not another rival team, but several cases of fish-misidentification in Timber. There had been some scandal/conspiracy theory about Timber's owner being involved at the time, but that goes with the territory when zealots are involved, sports or otherwise. Still, it _was_ rather ironic that the team traveled all the way to Timber just to be poisoned by their native spices.

Sadly, after a few days in Timber, Squall had to wonder if they zombies on ice were the lucky ones. They got to return in less than a day, even if it had been a rather… eventful trip. That did hit a chord though, something he found a tad coincidental. She'd mentioned zombies. Squall swore that today had probably been the first time in his life he'd thought of them and, a few minutes later, she mentions them in the midst of a tirade. Although it meant nothing, it was still eerie enough – and if she mentioned scrapbooking at any point, he was seriously going to start believing she had the ability to read his thoughts.

She'd continued to go on about wingers or defensemen or something. She could've been speaking a foreign language for all he knew as he'd skillfully tuned her out. Still, when she finally was forced into stopping because a lack of oxygen was probably making her lightheaded, he found himself amused. It seemed that he'd accidently hit on a touchy subject. Might as well have a go at it.

He shifted the car, glancing over to her, he deadpanned. "And here I was going to take you to a Timber Owl game when this is over. Front row seats or owners box, your choice." He rolled his eyes, but she couldn't see.

Of course, that thought was totally preposterous - he certainly wouldn't take her to her to Owl's game… He'd take her to an Esthar Tunrapods game as he was a fan, although their mascot left a lot to be desired, although he bet she could find some kind of amusement in it.

He _nearly_ slammed on the breaks, but thankfully came to his senses before doing so. What in the ever-loving hell was he thinking? Pressing his lips tightly together, he glared towards her with indignation, transferring the anger he felt towards himself onto her.

"Grow the hell up. It's a goddamn hat. What sane person worries about a hockey team over their own safety – not to mention my career? We can't be sure, but we have to believe that there are going to be people after you who don't give a damn about what team you like. They just want you dead. It's either the hat or explaining the matted blood in your hair. If neither of those fit your precious schedule, maybe being found in a pool of your blood works. You're choice."

He suddenly was reminded why he hated everything about this. He was risking everything over some princess who was too proud to wear a Timber Owls logo.

"…I-I." She desperately wanted to apologize, but she couldn't even begin to form the words. She turned away from him, looking out the window. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her like this, knowing that he'd successfully gotten to her, knowing that she'd allowed him to. If his intent had been to terrify her, it had worked. The truth didn't matter, not that he'd believe it anyhow, but she'd always intended to wear it despite the hard time she'd given him. She wasn't that shallow – her life and even his over a hat? She'd been kidding. He'd smiled and he'd laughed and she thought that-

Who the hell knows what she was thinking. Just because he showed one iota of humanity didn't mean that he was part of it or even able to understand it. Her only conciliation was that the hotel was in sight – at least she could _get a little_ distance from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Embarrassing but true, Rinoa's journey into the front seat was based on a real-life experience from November, although I was alone and the car wasn't moving (thank goodness!) my father had child locks on his doors, so had to get to the front. I was in a dress suit and it was very small car with large-back seats. I did fall, but instead of a bloody nose, sense nobody was there, my foot hit the dome light and broke it. I had to explain how this happened. Seriously, I'm too old for this (my children died of laughter and made fun of me being locked in a car) Added 1/10/12: I forgot a very important part of the story! This can all be verified by one of our own ffnet authors, Bebedora, because during said 'fall' to the front seat, I apparently butt-dialed her. We were meeting the next day with her and Optical Goddess in Milwaukee for a get-together and she'd been the last person I dialed! (Anyone in the area, we're all getting together again on Feb. 13 with Emerald Latias and PDestrucity...feel free to get a hold of me if you're in the Milwaukee area...or want to fly in from Canada like Emerald's doing!)
> 
> Also, I've been having fun with both FFVIII macros and art! I've been posting the macros at the Ashbear Facebook community. If you like random humor, well, hopefully you'll like them.
> 
> …You're all still laughing about a woman with an 18-year-old son locked in a car, trapped by child locks, aren't you?


	12. Coffee-Flavored Drinks and Mini-Bars...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I just wanted to drop a quick note over here at A03 to explain the premise behind the story. This was started as part of an off-shoot of a Squall and Rinoa challenge. Originally, our idea goal was to complete it within a certain time, with a certain word count, but as a group of six we tweaked our original idea – now we’ve all expanded, going from 20k works to full-blown 100k+ stories. One part of our idea was to help each other by drawing art/making graphics and also hope that others would contribute to ‘illustrate’ the stories. We have a group at Deviant, but since A03 allows graphics (an awesome, AWESOME feature!) that I’d include any fanart I have into the body of the story here. 
> 
> So far, there were three pictures, I started adding them last update. They are at chapters three, eleven, and twelve for right now. Hopefully, we’ll all get more as we go along, Because of this, I was talking about adding fanart into all the stories where applicable (Somewhere in Between has the most at ten pictures) 
> 
> If anyone reads this and likes or dislikes the idea of adding art, please drop me a line. I’d talked to two people, but would like to get a better idea of what the readers think. Thank you for all the support and if it goes well, I’ll start adding art with the stories. :)

__

_  
_(Cover Art by[PuftPrin @DeviantART](http://puftprin.deviantart.com/))

 

_7:35 pm, October 10_ _th_

Rinoa hadn't been thrilled with the hat, but she didn't exactly hold any _real_ animosity towards it either – that was, until now. In a split-second, it embodied everything wrong - not only with today's events, but rather her entire existence. All those negative feelings and memories, rolled up into a cornflower-blue symbol of atrocity. Blue had always been her favorite color, but now even that was shrouded in doubt. It proved a valuable lesson – time changed everything and not even favorite colors were safe from that. If only the changes were limited to something as minor as that – clinging to the past would prove fruitless… except where the Galbadian Bears were concerned.

Damn it, she'd give up her favorite color but _never_ her hockey team.

As she sat there, she knew what Agent Leonhart wanted; he wanted her to remain a, humorless, _argue-less_ , _personality-less_ automaton that responded only on cue, so that's what she'd do – and by god it wasn't for his sake, but hers. She needed to get through this as cleanly as possible. It was like ripping a Band-Aid off. Squall Leonhart was that dirty, annoying Band-Aid that had been slapped on by some overzealous nurse. The quicker she discarded him, the better it would be for all of them.

They'd reached the outskirts of Dogwood Heights in mutual silence. She'd seen the hotel a few blocks back but, given that it towered over its surroundings, it didn't require being a rocket scientist, or even an uptight federal agent, to notice it _._ She'd finished tucking her hair into the hat, making her feel even more out of place.

Rinoa didn't fit in here, but she appreciated it. The streets were approachable, but she couldn't say the same for the people. Dogwood Heights boasted the oldest, most magnificent architecture in Timber. They'd recently given it a facelift, renovating the old and adding the new – like the white twinkling lights adorning the trees year-round. She'd loved them, wishing they'd been carried over to the rest of the city, but people weren't conditioned to see outside their own bubble.

People created their own world, one that was completely safe. That's why they walked down the streets without a second thought. So simple. So free. She envied them - _they_ weren't trapped, nor forced to be an emotionless automaton for _him._

Damn it. How many seconds had she gone before returning to _that_ subject? It only proved that everything was on his terms, even her thoughts. At this rate, she half-expected him to start dictating what she could or couldn't think.

Still, she tried to be sympathetic, seeing it from his perspective. She was some hapless, clumsy, burden who _dared_ to believe that she deserved answers about her life. So much for sympathy. Growing agitated, she folded her arms in a huff, continuing to ignore his presence. He had a way of getting to her like nobody she'd ever known.

It was… _infuriating_.

 _He_ was infuriating.

She just needed to survive his ire for a few more hours; to use her metaphor, the Band-Aid was peeling in the corners, leaving that dark gross, gummy residual gunk. He was just… gunk.

There had to be a witty joke there, something that fit perfectly, but it escaped her just like…

She inwardly cursed. How ungrateful can one person be?

The realization made her stop dead in her tracks. That's it. She'd officially hit the lowest of lows – comparing the man who believed in her to a _gunky_ -edged Band-Aid. He'd bet his career on her; he believed her when most would have simply been dismissive. Sighing dolefully, she slumped deeper into the seat. Truly, this was a pathetic state of affairs. Even worse? She felt guilty about watching the minutes pass until Seifer arrived. It wasn't as if she didn't appreciate everything Agent Leonhart had done, but she needed to be able to feel like herself for a few minutes and not second guessing every last thought.

The car pulled into the hotel's large semi-circle entrance. He continued on, purposely moving away from the valet stand. Still, they weren't entirely isolated. There were a few other vehicles around, most whose owners didn't want to fork over the Gil for valet parking. That actually raised an interesting question – she wondered how much of a cheapskate Agent Designer-Suit really when it came to frivolities like valet service.

Back in Deling Rinoa had known his 'type,' far too well in fact.

For the most part, growing up in an affluent society, she could divide the men she knew into two categories. First, there were the ones who flaunted their money, shoving it in everyone's face; they'd make sure all eyes were on them as they handed their keys to the valet. Then there were those who guarded their money, who wouldn't spend a Gil on something so frivolous. Taking into account his personality (or-lack-there-of), she estimated Leonhart fell into the latter. Using a paid parking service for him would be a very rare, very slim phenomenon – like if he had the President in his car or possibly a date that he was trying to impress, someone truly valet-worthy… like Quistis.

Great, she'd already felt bad, now she felt worse.

As he placed the car into park, she dutifully remained the perfect solider, awaiting his orders. He'd made that crystal-clear when he oh-so-eloquently pointed out that she was at the bottom of the pecking order. Maybe his tirade had been a blessing because she wanted nothing to do with him. Too bad all his good looks were wasted on a bona fide meanie who also doubled as a cheapskate.

Gah, this was all so confusing. One minute she was chastising herself for her thoughts, knowing everything that he'd risked. Then, the very next minute, she was holding a grudge over him _hypothetically_ using valet parking to impress Quistis. Fine, her thought about Agent Trepe may have come off as a tad flippant, but Leonhart didn't corner the market on random bouts of anger. Still, he was quite the anger-professional, figuring that last time he'd gone off on her midsentence. Not to mention that he was laughing and smiling shortly before, which sort of took his random bout into a whole new level of creepy.

Who knows, maybe he was just as confused as she was… yeah, not likely.

She kept her eyes turned, but regrettably caught his reflection in the window. There was no effort to look away, a detail that remained strangely overlooked. His image was absent in spots and any real detail was limited to his torso. It wasn't like she had a choice and she wasn't _intentionally_ spying on him, she reasoned with herself. It was either look _at him_ or _at his reflection_ …. Of course she _could have_ looked straight ahead, but that option was also strangely overlooked.

Squinting her eyes, she did her best to make out what he was doing. By 'accident' she found that if she leaned back a smidgen, the reflection cleared. With her unobstructed view, she could see him flip down his visor for the sole purpose of looking in the mirror. So much for giving him the benefit of the doubt; it seemed that he was as vain as the rest of them. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes slightly, reminding herself that these thoughts just weren't worth it.

As for Squall, after he parked, he took a second to gather his thoughts. First thing that needed attention was his appearance. Honestly, it had to be a good two years since he flipped open a vanity mirror, but today was quickly turning out to be the exception, not the norm.

He rubbed off some errant spots of dried blood and, for the most part, his face cleaned up fine, although the predominant gash on his forehead was impossible to ignore. However, he did his best to tone it down, finger-combing his hair over his wound.

That's the moment it dawned on her. Agent Leonhart _probably_ wasn't looking at the mirror out of vanity, but because he'd be entering the lobby of a five-star hotel.

Stupid guilt… there it was again. She'd jumped to conclusions based both on her anger and previous experience. This was why 'anger' wasn't her forte as the second she looked into his eyes or, in this case, his reflection, her anger quickly morphed into guilt.

His cut was her fault and it would be on her conscious forever if it scarred. Right now, it was extremely fresh and not something small that could be covered. It was memorable. Worst of all, it was likely to be a permanent memento from the case. After this, any thoughts of her would probably leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He must have had similar feelings as he slammed the mirror closed.

She waited for the words to roll off his tongue resentfully, but they didn't.

"I'm going to go check in. You need to stay here."

Yes. He was still upset, but also knew enough to leave his anger in the car. He'd never compromise an assignment because of his emotions - it was a track record that wasn't about to be broken, although this entire day had been… different. Usually, he was able to mask feelings, but this was challenge – _she was a challenge_. Honestly, he could place the blame on several people, but the finger only needed to be pointed at one – himself.

He'd fallen to momentary weakness. That was all. He'd been caught off guard, somehow pulled into an unexpected conversation, but not anymore. To top it off, he projected his personal issues onto her. 'Guilt' was foreign to him. It was also bizarrely uncomfortable. That's why tried to avoid emotions all together - they were complicated, just like relationships.

He didn't need complications.

Like just now, when he saw his scar in the mirror. He was angry, but something else was gnawing at him – his thoughts weren't fair. She'd almost died, lost two friends, one in her arms, and here he was, upset about an accidental cut… Truthfully, there was something else he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried – his random thought about going to a hockey game.

Emotions, feelings, friends, relationships - all superfluous in his life and that's why when he shut the mirror, he refused to acknowledge them further. If he did, it gave them power. He wrote it off as the residual effects of a tiring day after a disappointing weekend. Work was always his constant, so he'd focus on that.

His goal _wasn't_ about making her comfortable, nor was it about making a friend. He needed to heed his own advice – this was _only_ about keeping her alive.

And right now, that meant getting her to a room, but it also meant leaving her. Hopefully she could go five minutes without a chaperone, although he had doubts. Looking around, he tried to figure out a way to make her look less suspicious. Then he happened to glance across the street and saw a guy texting. Miss Heartilly's phone was at the station, not that he'd trust her with it anyhow – she would have been traced the moment it was turned on. Honestly, he intended to stop using his soon enough, and then cover his digital footprint, but for now it served a purpose.

It made him physically ill just thinking about what he was about to do, but he believed that this was their best bet, given the limited resources he had to work with. If sharing his wallet hadn't been demoralizing enough, now he was about to entrust her with something equally as personal. He couldn't dwell on it as he reached into his pocket - dwelling would be a gateway step to over-thinking. That's why the next steps happened so quickly, hoping the transfer would be less painful. Squall likened it to quickly pulling off a Band-Aid. Hastily, he took out his mobile, holding it in front of her.

"Take this. Social networking will be society's downfall, but tonight it's working as your cover. Use it. Act like you're texting or whatever people do. It goes without saying - stay out of it. I'm you have experience in playing make-believe."

That caught her attention. Turning, she silently glanced to the phone. Not surprising, his words had come across as another order but, this time, she felt a twinge of sadness. Instead of throwing blame around, she looked at it from his perspective. It occurred to her that Agent Leonhart had likely spent the better part of his life trapped in a hierarchy of orders - saying 'please' or 'thank you' probably didn't come naturally. Also, chances were good that he'd never allow himself any true freedoms. Personally, she never understood people who entirely gave up their identities; one didn't have to sacrifice the most important aspects of one's self. There was a difference in serving proudly and letting it consume you.

Her father was the perfect example; a devoted military man, but a far from a devoted father. To him, she was a burden. Growing up Rinoa had been raised around other army children whose fathers had been officers. _They_ were never treated as burdens; _those men_ were devoted, loving fathers who served their country, but loved their families too.

When she was eleven, she hoped that the difference between those fathers and Caraway had all been in her head. On Christmas Eve, she went into her father's study, maybe to reach out, maybe get to understand him better. She did her best to express her feelings - his response? That's why her friends' fathers were merely officers. He then told her to go back upstairs and discuss it with her governess if she felt like sharing; he needed to work because the year-end assessments were due soon. That pain stuck with her for years, finding balance between family and career was something that was beyond Caraway's ability.

She didn't know what the future held for the man sitting beside her. No matter how angry she found herself, she hoped that he'd never follow down that path. She knew it was pathetic, wanting to save a stranger that didn't need saving, but that's how she was - FBI or military, there was only a fine line between them. Maybe simply having thoughts about 'saving' him were inappropriate, but they'd remain in her head. Still, she wanted to tell him that he was young enough he could chose another path. That was part of the problem — he probably didn't know how. It was easier to listen and obey than face what he could explain; feelings had no order, and that was terrifying to some. That's why in her eyes, no matter how many stars he wore, Fury Caraway was the weakest man she'd ever know.

Of course, _that man_ still loved giving orders to everybody in earshot, military or not. That was a fact which she, the help staff, the mailman, even the gas station attendant, and, well, half of the working class of Deling City to could attest to firsthand. Still, there was always someone higher up; it was endless cycle and one she had to accept that Agent Leonhart felt much more comfortable in.

"I'm not holding this for my health. Take the damn thing."

She'd picked an unfortunate time to zone out. It felt like longer but, in reality, it only spanned a few seconds. It was still a long enough pause to irritate him. She didn't say the thoughts that were on her mind, staying true to her word to 'be a good little girl and follow orders.' She opted for politeness instead.

"Thank you," she said softly, avoiding any direct eye contact.

Reaching for the phone, her skin accidently brushed against his. It was enough to remind her of how unfair this situation was for several reasons; still, she didn't act phased or even apologize for her miscalculation - an apology would show that she'd noticed. She did, but she wanted him to think she didn't. Fine, that was another point that only made sense her mind… not so much to the rest of the human race.

Growing irritated at herself, she snatched it from his hand. So much for him not noticing - that plan failed greatly. Maybe he'd think that the contact disgusted her, just as much as it surely had for him. Her eyes remained downcast, but she distantly heard a sound akin to a small cough before barking his next set of orders.

"I'll be quick. Do _not_ open the doors for any reason or anyone. Don't even look out the window. Act natural, but keep your eyes on the phone. That's all."

"Yes sir," she responded, keeping it impersonal.

Without another word, he got out of the car. The moment the door closed and the automatic locks clicked, she became terrified. She wouldn't show it. This was an exercise in mental toughness but, the second she saw his silhouette fade through the hotel doors, breathing in and out became a rather formidable task. There was a pounding in her head that rapidly worked its way throughout her entire body. She even felt the distinct pulsing of her heartbeat as it tried to keep pace. She had no idea how it was possible, but who was she to question logistics; all she knew was that it _was happening_.

Her ragged breathing intensified and she realized that she was starting to hyperventilate. Like so many times in her life, she found herself in a helpless situation - surrounded by people, but completely alone. Desperation made her want to get out the car to scream, yell, beg for help – _escape_ – but she couldn't. She wouldn't. She had to be stronger than her greatest weakness; she needed to discover her anchor. After the way he treated her, she felt stupid for not wanting to disappoint him. More than that, she didn't want to disappoint her friends or herself. Thinking of them reminded her of Agent Leonhart's phone. She looked down to her hands, realizing that she was all but crushing it – breaking it in the midst of a panic attack was something she'd care not to explain.

She managed to tether herself back to reality by focusing on the instructions she'd been given. The first roadblocks hadn't been easy to overcome, but she found that recalling his instructions gave her focus. After that, everything sort of fell into place – even her heartbeat and breathing were on their way to returning to normal.

Again, she had presented with a rare opportunity - to study the elusive Agent Leonhart through his mobile device. The phone itself was, in one word, _expensive_ ; one of those that took everyone by storm a few months ago. There'd been a reported shortage so people waited for days. She'd seen it on the evening news. She and Zone even laughed about those people crazy enough to spend that much for a phone. Rinoa smiled at the memory, knowing she'd found one of those 'crazies,' although she couldn't picture him as the type to camp in line. She knew it wouldn't happen in a million years, but the mental image was too humorous to ignore. Picturing Agent Leonhart waiting outside one of those discount super-stores during a heat wave, perched in a lawn chair with potato chips in one hand and an energy drink in the other… not to mention interacting with all the other fanatics, was an image that was funny as hell.

The phone seemed nice, although she could never afford it, plus she couldn't exactly take this opportunity to explore its features. She wanted to, boy did she want to snoop, but she didn't. She'd given her word, plus it there was that pesky 'respecting him' thing. It was difficult at times, especially when his moods changed more often than a traffic light.

She smiled and the realization she could respect someone, yet still call them by a nickname. There wasn't a written rule on etiquette anywhere, right? Okay, maybe stealing Seifer's numerous nicknames was a tad low, but the monikers somehow empowered her, given the situation. Also, Seifer would likely be thrilled, taking it as an homage to his greatness or at least that he was rubbing off on her.

Being lost in thought wasn't so good when it created the opportunity for her to be caught off guard.

The phone's electronic chimes tore through the silence. It wasn't loud, but the scream that followed was. Not to mention, as it simultaneously vibrated, she'd tossed the 'I-cost-the-price-of-all-small-country' mobile phone in the air on reflex. The only conciliation was that he wasn't around to witness yet another brilliant move by her. Picking it off the floor, she nonchalantly glanced around to make sure nobody else had witnessed it either. Thankfully, it appeared that her stupidity remained hers alone. So much for following his directions, at least she'd given it the old community-college try - another running joke between her and Zone.

Maybe Leonhart would give her credit for trying? Yeah… probably, _definitely_ , not. Composing herself, she glanced down to see who called; it was more instinctual than snooping (at least that's what she convinced herself) and the minute she saw, there was that familiar sense of self-doubt – the readout stated it was Quistis Trepe. She thought that she'd moved beyond these feelings of doubt years ago but, the insecurities were returning.

Zone had been pivotal in helping deal with them. When she first moved to Timber, Caraway had a way of continuing to get into her head. Zone had saved her so many times; she knew that nobody would ever take his place. He'd been such an intricate part of her life. Again, she found herself on the verge of tears, but chose to close her eyes, remembering Leonhart's words.

The one positive thing about the phone ringing was that it successfully kept her mind occupied and, before she realized, he'd returned. Sitting down, he put on his seatbelt, and then starting the car. She watched with a thinly-veiled smile which continued even as she returned the phone to its rightful owner. Truthfully, the smile was genuine as she was relieved, plus there was a sense of pride in managing to pull herself together after a shaky start.

Taking back his phone, he glanced over to her, brow furrowed as he eyed her with skepticism – she was smiling. He believed that she'd been prying, saw something or got into something that she wasn't supposed to.

She noticed his curiosity. That hadn't been the reason she'd been smiling before, but it was now - him clueless wondering what she'd done or seen… _pure bonus._

"Quistis called."

Originally, she planned on letting that hang in the air, but decided against it. It was better to preemptively strike; if not, he'd just end up talking down to her, breaking her good mood.

"Before you ask, no I didn't answer it."

He shrugged indifferently. "It's fine. I wouldn't have either. If someone had answered her call - that would've tipped her off. I know what she wants; I'll get a hold of her later."

That's the way he'd always handled things. If it wasn't an emergency, he called people back on his own time. Then again, Quistis always had a different definition of the word emergency. To be fair, so did a vast majority of the world's population. This time though, she _sort of_ had reason to call as he had gotten into a physical altercation in front of her. Still, he'd classify it as his run-of-the-mill day as somebody _always_ wanted to throw a punch at him. Almasy was just in the 25% that followed through.

As the car pulled away, he offered a rundown, "I'm self-parking. The parking garage is located under the hotel and the elevator goes directly up. It's keycard-operated above the lobby. We're set. The ease of access with low visibility was the main reason this hotel was chosen - the more expensive the hotel, the more private its clientele. Speaking of privacy – this room is registered with a non-traceable alias. One of those gold cards you spotted in my wallet is issued to Joshua Loire. I wanted to let you know in case it's mentioned. Better to be safe."

"All right."

He turned out onto the main throughway, heading back to the self-park area of the garage.

"At least you don't have to be my wife."

"Yeah-ah okay," she choked out, although she wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"I share your sentiment. It's awkward as hell. People are curious and judgmental by nature, there's factual data that proves stating 'wife' cuts down a lot of speculation."

"Well, as long as there's factual data, I guess…" she said, unsure of what the proper response would be. Also, just this very second, she learned something new; not only was _pretending_ to be married awkward, it turned out that even _speaking_ about pretending to be married was equally as awkward, at least from her perspective. He probably wished that his girlfriend was here… but then Rinoa had to wonder if that would be easier or harder. The obvious choice would be 'easy' but she bet that pretending to be married would lead to a natural progression. Still, she could also see unwanted conversations about _actual_ commitment. That would be the epitome of uncomfortable, especially for someone like him. Great, now she was curious if he and Quistis ever had to work undercover as couple. Stupid curiosity.

"So, have you ever had an undercover situation that called for something like that before? Where, for one reason or another, it was vital that you pretended to be someone's wife?"

She was quite impressed with herself. She figured that would've come out awkwardly, but she was pleased that she'd managed to sound so professional. He probably wouldn't even think it was about Quistis, albeit indirectly.

Of course, Squall didn't exactly think the same. In fact, he glanced over to her after that.

It was funny, after he first made the random comment, he could've kicked himself for trying to start a conversation, especially on _that_ subject. He'd only said that because he was thankful he didn't have to openly pretend to be her husband, even if he did have to infer it to the woman in the lobby. It was one thing to keep up the façade with a trained professional, but playing make-believe with an amateur fell into another group entirely, especially one who transposed the words husband with _wife_.

Now, he was oddly glad he'd said it. In fact, he almost broke his earlier rule and laughed. Her statement amused him far more than it should have, especially because she was damn oblivious to her mistake. Still, he knew that she was trying, so he didn't want to burst her bubble – so he'd use a more indirect approach.

"I can say that Josh has five or six exes out there. I'm sure the faux alimony and child support are probably drowning him."

"Well, he still manages to have a gold card, so can't be that bad."

"True." He snorted, again a cross between laugh and disgust. To her benefit, she'd made a valid point. "Either way, being confined with anybody for any amount of time - it gets old real quick."

"I can imagine." She paused, ignoring the obvious jab at being trapped with her. She could either focus on that or the other thing still on her mind. Maybe if she approached this from another angle, she'd manage to weasel the information out of him yet. He had his blinker on to turn into the garage, so she was running out of time. "I've always been curious, how do others react to something like that? For example… say an agent that had a real-life girlfriend or boyfriend or even a spouse."

Now, it was out there. The crux of her question still remained on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn't stupid enough to ask, _"So, how does Quistis feel when you have to pretend you're married to another agent? Has she even been with you?"_

To be fair, Rinoa tried to picture how she'd feel in that situation. Mental correction, not as in with Agent Leonhart, she was just thinking in hypotheticals. Yes, in her heart, she would know it was a sham based on necessity, but to use Leonhart's words – it was natural to judge a situation. Honestly, she had to believe that she'd trust her boyfriend/husband explicitly or she wouldn't be with him, but it's also human nature to feel doubt. Her mind would tell her 'no' but her heart would have a difficult time accepting it at first. Still, if there was love and trust, she'd get past it.

Unfortunately, while it seemed like innocent-enough question, it struck a nerve with him. " _How do they react_? They react like anyone who understands the importance of what we do. Anyone who'd even have to ask no doubt has problems with insecurity and with petty jealousy. It's work. It wouldn't be an issue for anyone with sense," he stated contemptuously.

He didn't know why, but he had a growing feeling this wasn't as innocent as she played it off. She was attempting to cross a line in a rather unscrupulous way. He certainly wasn't about to appease her interest into his personal life so she and detective Almasy could laugh about it together. They could draw whatever conclusion they damn well pleased without his help.

As the car pulled into a parking spot, she raised her hands in surrender. "I give up. Why I'm even trying with you is beyond me. I just broke my own rule about trying to have anything that remotely resembles a conversation with you… No, I didn't just break the rule; I shattered it and then stomped on it until it was in smithereens. Not only do I concede to your superiority; you're absolutely right, me talking to you makes it so obvious I'm lacking in the sense department. So yes, please, _please_ profile me to your heart's content. Label me insane because I'll freely admit that I've been jealous and I'm horribly insecure but, newsflash, I'm human and not some emotionless brick wall. Yes, I hate that part of me but maybe doubt is sometimes your heart's way of warning you. You know what's worse than being jealous? Convincing yourself you're imagining things only to find out that you weren't imagining at all. It hurts like hell especially when-" she stopped herself. He didn't care. She was a fool then just like she was a fool now.

"I'll take the bag," he stated abruptly as if her words meant nothing, he wanted to move and not remain here like a sitting duck. "Stay close and don't speak to anyone. Don't be obvious, just act normal."

 _Normal._ Rinoa wondered if two people could have had a more vastly-different definition of a single word. She wanted to respond even with a sarcastic 'yes sir' but she couldn't muster the words. Squall Leonhart would never be worth the effort.

* * *

They had arrived upstairs without any problems. The only people they'd passed were a younger couple who were too busy inappropriately groping one another to notice them. To be fair, Squall didn't even think that they'd notice if he and Rinoa had been six-foot Chocobos in designer suits.

Squall took the lead, entering the room first to check it out and give it the 'all-clear.' He noticed that Miss Heartilly was holding onto her vow of silence and soon as she was able to, she marched ahead, going directly into the bathroom. She'd been in there roughly five minutes, most likely to clean up, when the door finally opened a crack.

"I'm taking a shower. I'll be out… whenever."

The bathroom door closed with a firm 'thud.' Given their situation, she couldn't slam it, but he knew that's exactly what she'd wanted to do. As far as her so-called anger went, he believed that it was mostly for show; he doubted that she'd be able to keep up the pretense much longer. Not that he should complain - silence is what he'd wanted. Closing the blinds and securing the door, he grabbed his laptop, setting it on the table. From the corner of his eye, he spied the coffee maker and was thankful, maybe this was the start of an upswing to his day. His body desperately craved an infusion of caffeine. Fresh, black, and strong enough that aroma of it alone made the average person queasy.

Alas, the individual packs provided by the hotel were a cruel, sick joke, but one that he'd have to accept. Getting up, he'd started sifting through the packets before cursing brusquely. It dawned on him that he needed water. In some hotels, sinks were on the outside of the bathroom, while others had them on the inside - unfortunately, in this case, it was the latter. He had the sinking feeling that the shower's occupant wouldn't be surrendering the room anytime soon. And if he asked, she seemed like the type who would purposely take twice as long.

It appeared as if the universe kicked his ass this round. Apparently, today, it was on team Almasy and Heartilly.

Desperate, he looked towards the mini-bar as it taunted him. He contemplated how desperate the situation was – would a single drink be worth the price of his first born? Just then, he heard the water faucet change from the shower to the bathtub – at least the universe was nice enough to give him an answer. Plus, he had no desire to have children; in that regards, the price was about right. Before logic changed his mind, he walked to the over-priced self-serve refrigerator. As a federal agent who'd seen and done it all, he could say with all confidence that these mini-bars were a crime against humanity.

Opening the door, he looked at the rows of items, all costing the price of a black-market kidney. He was exaggerating _some,_ but sadly, not by much. He caught the familiar logo on the vending tag - _Odine Brand_. Not surprising. He'd always wondered what the hell it was supposed to be, but some mysteries were better left unsolved. The Odine Corporation was notorious for being a money-grubbing conglomerate, eating up independent businesses and then spitting them out. He'd met their CEO once, odd little man.

Leaning on the door, he decided it best to do this without looking, as knowing the price would worsen his already-sour mood. The closest thing to coffee was a shorter version of those old-fashioned glass milk bottles. It was emblazoned with bold lettering that stated 'coffee-flavored drink.' As for the _fine print_ , that would be the words 'artificially-flavored' microscopically printed beneath - perfectly par for the course today. Removing it, he watched as the mechanism in the rack push the others up from behind. Apparently, Odine didn't want you changing your mind or replacing it with another bottle - smart business practice, horrible humanitarian. Right now, Odine Brand or not, Squall would take what he could get; the coffee situation had reached critical.

Unfortunately, he'd mistakenly caught the price while closing the door. He joined Heartilly in the 'closing the door, but really wanting to slam it' club. Considering the universe's sardonic sense of humor, slamming the door here would break the fridge and then he'd have to take out a mortgage to pay off his debt… or wait, Joshua Loire would – that at least was some consolation. He glanced at the bottle in his hand and realized that he could have purchased a cheap coffee maker for this price. _Literally._ That wasn't even an over-exaggeration.

His entire body tensed.

That was completely the wrong word to use. And although a small part of him wanted to smile at the irony, a larger part of him remained wholly-stubborn.

Clearing his mind, he returned to the work table, removed the vacuum-sealed lid with a pop, and took a sip. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good - a cheap imitation of the real thing. It even said so on the outside – perhaps there was some truth in marketing. Setting it down, he then opened the computer, all while periodically glancing towards the restroom. A bath was probably a good choice for her; hopefully it would allow her to relax, plus it gave him time to concentrate on work without her constant yammering. Maybe he could actually manage to be productive for a change; it wasn't his fault that he was stuck with a witness that was so damn insufferable.

As he waited for the computer to boot up, he thought about their last exchange. It was a random thing to pop into his head, he couldn't say why. It wasn't as if it should have bothered him – it was in the past, and therefore shouldn't matter, right? Like he said, she was insufferable, so it wasn't his fault that he'd been so short with her and… _short._

Inwardly, he (again) found himself tensing. First, it was his use of _literal_ , now it was thinking the word _'short.'_ That whole conversation wasn't even memorable, so why remember? Well, the fact that it was a conversation at all may have had been a small clue. It wasn't like it was _entertaining_ in the traditional sense; he'd maybe consider it _tolerable,_ which was high praise coming from him.

Pushing all that ridiculousness to the side, he logged onto his computer. For some reason it occurred to him that _none_ of these problems would've occurred if Quistis had been here and… shit. This was becoming unsettling; his entire thought patterns had been off. It felt like he was constantly jumping to something else which wasn't at all like him.

He skipped back to his original thought, Quistis - another preferred-to-avoid subject. Unfortunately, he needed to touch base before she sent out the cavalry. He knew her; she'd continue hitting re-dial all night, she was nothing if not persistent.

Taking another swig of his fake coffee, he knew what had to be done. After the impending lectures-of-doom, he'd turn of his phone. It was already a gamble, but it wasn't like he was a suspect, so nobody _should_ be tracing him, hopefully. Once Almasy arrived, Squall would take a few more precautions.

He'd started to reach in his pants' pockets, but decided to cover all his bases before making the call. Standing up, he walked to the bathroom door, knocking as a general courtesy. He hadn't expected a reply; well, at least not a verbal one. No matter how refined Heartilly may have been at one time, he'd seen the other side – feisty, spirited, and not-so-verbally-articulate - all wrapped up with a hint of aggression. Also, she was a die-hard hockey fan; he was sure that any ladylike qualities she possessed flew out the window the moment she stepped into an arena. Taking all those facts into account, he'd make a fairly large wager that she'd communicate in another manner. He'd bet on the obvious - flipping him off.

Here went nothing. "Miss Heartilly, I'm calling Agent Trepe back now. Not sure if you were planning to get out anytime soon but, if you do, you need to remain quiet."

Silence.

Big surprise. He took a deep breath, knocking on the door again. "I need to know if you heard me."

More silence.

Being on the receiving end of silence was actually quite rather bothersome. "If you're going to continue being stubborn, go for it. However, I do need some form of acknowledgement that you're physically all right. Protocol states that I need to check periodically. Making my job easier is mutually-beneficial – the sooner I know, sooner I'll leave you be. If you prefer, don't think of as speaking to me, think of it as," he paused momentarily, recalling her phrase in the parking garage, "informing the wall you're staying in there at least another five minutes."

Squall heard the faint sounds of moving water, but still no direct answer. "Giving me the middle finger doesn't count in this case, so please just answer. As I said, it's protocol, plus I need to make sure you understand about remaining quiet. I'll leave you be then."

He'd heard an audible gasp after his first sentence – he'd _so_ nailed her non-verbal response. He also knew that she was dying to ask him questions; it was taking every iota of willpower to keep up her silent treatment. Still, if she wanted peace, there was only one choice.

"Fine." The single word was said curtly.

He had no doubt it was spoken out of necessity, her only means to get him to go away, a philosophy that he'd abided by for nearly his entire life. He should have been satisfied, having received his answer, but if he had what he'd come for, why was he still just standing there? He contemplated whether he should say something else, but he was at a loss.

Then it hit him – he'd really hurt her.


	13. Silence on the Lam

_ 8:36 pm, October 10 _ _ th  _

There was something to be said for indifference; a once-familiar ally now replaced by uncertainty.

Squall may have inadvertently said something downstairs that couldn't be fixed. As hard as it would have been to believe, it hadn't been his intention to hurt her, just to quiet her down. He didn't like her prying, albeit indirectly, and he didn't want Seifer to turn his own life against him. That's why he always kept so much close to the chest; he tried to pass it off like things didn't bother him, but certain things had – acknowledging them gave them power. And just because he found himself in the precarious position of being forced to trust Almasy, it didn't mean that he had to like him. At all. It was also difficult to understand why Miss Heartilly had confided in the detective or whatever bond they shared. That wasn't his business, unless it interfered with his job – then it damn well became his business.

Still as he stood at the door, he had no idea what he was doing here; maybe he believed that she'd break down and say more than 'fine.' If he went back and sat down, it would just be annoying to get back up, so he figured that he might as well wait until the inevitable verbal explosion erupted from her like a volcano.

Seriously, he knew her answer of 'fine' was an outright lie. This eruption was going to happen, followed by a long tirade about why she was, in fact, anything but _fine._ From there she'd elaborate on how most of her 'un-fineness' had been his fault.

She'd been through a lot, so he'd accept the blame. He wasn't good at comforting, but he was rather used to being verbally-berated in his line of work. Truthfully, it was usually by a suspect who he'd collared on an active murder charge – though he'd admit that the verbal insults varied greatly between a cold-blooded killer and a woman who ended her rants by proclaiming him a 'meanie.'

But while a rant was what he expected, it was not what he received.

Unfortunately, while standing here, he'd also passed a very important threshold – the morally-acceptable time allotted to stand outside a bathroom door as dictated by social norms. Well… if there _was_ some sort guideline somewhere, he wasn't sure. Okay, so not the point. Still, if he waited by said door any longer, while she was _taking a bath_ , he'd officially make that plunge into the realm of creepy. A sexual deviancy charge wasn't exactly what he needed added in his file, especially after the bevy of charges that Captain Martine was sure to file after today.

Thinking back, that man was truly an ass and, while he was on the subject of difficult people, this woman was very stubborn.

He'd give her credit – she proved to be a quick-study when it came to the silent treatment, but that was solely her decision. He wasn't going to stand her and play the part of friend; his foray into acting ended at the police station.

Walking back to the table, he reached for his drink. Unfortunately, downing the remainder didn't even begin to get him back up to a proper caffeine–to-blood ratio. For what he'd paid for the bottle, he should've been savoring it like an important wine.

He eyed the refrigerator angrily as a low, guttural growl escaped his lips. Fine. Whatever. His first born, his soul, a mortgage - whatever the price, Odine won this round. Making a quick detour back to the refrigerator, he angrily snatched a second coffee drink.

On the way back, reached into his pants' pocket to grab his mobile. Just as he was about to dial Quistis' number, something Heartilly said downstairs clicked; it was her rather ambiguous statement about _jealousy and her heart being right_. She was obviously upset and probably speaking from experience – that was a hypothesis at least, but he'd noticed a rather palpable change to her tone.

Looking back now, it sounded as if she'd been jealous – trusting someone her gut was warning her against. Something in that exchange was the key – the problem was Heartilly didn't seem to grasp that it was only a one-way conversation.

_Profiling_ and _profiler_ weren't terms the FBI used, although movies and television didn't seem to grasp that. Maybe, Heartilly had a similar thought, thinking that 'profiler and therapist' were two interchangeable terms. He wasn't about to sit and listen to her go into awkward details about a failed relationship - she obviously didn't learn her lesson. If she had, then she would have been certainly wise enough to stay away from someone like Almasy. He didn't have to be psychic to see how that would end – _badly._

He shouldn't care. He _didn't_ care. He'd become angry because of her asking pointed questions. Still, he hadn't meant to hurt her, but if that was the only way to have her keep her distance, so be it. Men are human. Women are human. The sooner she learned not to depend on others, the sooner she'd learn the root of her mistake.

In his line of work, mistakes were often permanent, sometimes deadly. Those were extremes, and he wasn't exactly applying to her but, to be frank, she needed to accept past mistakes and then move on. Simple _. Ha,_ he snidely thought, offering dating advice along the lines of "deal with it" seemed appropriately-fitting. The fact that he'd wasted any time thinking about this was puzzling. It was the preverbal a rock and a hard place - Heartilly's faux dating advice and Trepe's lectures were both equally as nauseating.

Mentally noting that he needed to ask Assistant Director Kramer for hazard pay, he dialed a once-familiar number. He knew it would be answered before the first full ring; it wasn't as if he was some type of expert Quistis observer, she was just a creature of habit. That's why he could already _feel_ the approaching lecture, much like the electrical charge filling the air before a storm.

As predicted, Agent Trepe answered before the first full ring - a skill that was equal parts awe and fear-inspiring. After that, she didn't hold back, lecturing him from word one. It felt like time was dragging on forever but, in this case, 'forever' spanned the length of five minutes – five _excruciatingly long_ minutes. It was his job to listen and he ended up saying less than five words total. It was best to let her tirade go on (and on) - back at Garden, her lectures were infamous among students and facility alike. As respected as she was, that was the one issue that even her fan club conceded to. There were even underground betting pools on how long certain speeches lasted. Squall wasn't proud but, under a pseudonym, he'd taken actually won a few, even taken the semester's grand champion title.

Sadly, there was no wagering on this call. To stay occupied, he'd even taken a few necessary trips to the refrigerator. Now, he looked down to his shame as four empty bottles of fake coffee taunted him.

The call started as he'd expected – a candid lecture on responsibility, followed by a bonus lesson in humility. She could twist her words all she'd like, he saw through her ploy. It was obvious that her only goal was to have him grovel at Martine's feet.

Like hell that would happen; not in this lifetime, not in the next.

Once Agent Trepe got the sermon portion of the call out of her system, she'd moved onto far more important things. It turned out that after he left, the station immediately went into lockdown. Timber PD then initiated a grid-search in a ten-block radius, going car-by-car and searching nearby buildings.

Squall called it a win as it confirmed that his and Seifer's plan had worked perfectly.

Honestly, he'd had his concerns. Quistis tended to be more procedure-orientated than others, especially if she was on some kick to subconsciously impress him. Back at the station, Squall had hoped that he'd be able to coordinate in person with Seifer, but this was Quistis here. She wasted no time in calling for the lockdown.

There was no way she could allow them to search, so he and Seifer went with their backup plan. Instead of doing this the simple way, they'd had to opt for something a little more… _physical._ Not only that, it had to be a big enough distraction that the entire station watched on in shock but, most importantly, it _had_ to stop Quistis dead in her tracks. It also preyed on her sympathies; her concern for Squall was far greater than her concern for Rinoa. He wasn't proud of exploiting those emotions, but he wasn't losing sleep over it either. Besides for that unfortunate detail, the rest went according to plan. Once the federal agent was kicked out, nobody gave his car a second glance, even as he exited the parking lot.

Before that, his main concern had been Seifer not making it back inside before Quistis called out the dogs. Seifer had mentioned that it would take him and Miss Heartilly precisely four minutes, provided that there weren't any distractions, to get from the building's side door to his car. For some ungodly reason, Detective Almasy had the security cameras avoidance pattern down perfectly; it seemed that Seifer was quite the prankster so avoiding visual evidence was a tad important.

Needless to say, Detective Almasy proved to be a man of his word – a fact that Squall strangely never doubted. After getting Heartilly to the car, Seifer was running later, so when he re-entered the building, coming in through an access hallway, her purposely made sure to grab everyone's attention. Regrettably, many ' _World's Greatest Dad'_ and _'Life's a Beach'_ mugs were unceremoniously knocked to the floor, making the ultimate sacrifice in the name of performance art. Of course, then the play went a little… off script. They were supposed to make a scene, maybe getting a little physical if necessary, but not the knock-out-drag-out exhibition that it turned into. Just because he and Detective Almasy found common ground in protecting Miss Heartilly didn't mean they had to like one another. Hell, they didn't even have to stomach each other's presence in the least.

"… _Again, Squall, Martine has assigned Detective Almasy as lead. The guy's an ass, but he has skills… unfortunately, for the rest of humanity, Seifer's overly-aware of this and makes sure that everyone else knows it too. Seriously… don't even get me started, he's so infuriating. Still, if he helps find her, so be it."_

Squall blinked a few times. Had the whole world gone mad, putting Almasy up on some pedestal? He sensed that the detective had wormed his way into Quistis' good graces; maybe her newfound fascination would keep her momentarily distracted. Thank god he could board a train tomorrow and get out of this city. Otherwise, he might have wondered what in the hell someone had put in the town's water.

"… _which coincided with the information on file. Squall, that's exactly why you need to speak to Martine. Because when Seifer found out that he was correct, he stood up, did a two-decade old dance move, and then proclaimed he was 'getting jiggy with it.' How am I supposed to work with someone so unprofessional? Worse yet, it's aggravating that he still gives her benefit of the doubt. But don't worry - I've already put the request into legal that we hit her up on everything. After the trouble she's caused, I'll be there every step of the way to make sure she never sees the light of day. Also, I contacted Caraway's people - he's supposed to call back tomorrow."_

Great, now he was forced to play devil's advocate for someone who wasn't even speaking to him. But there was something unusual about how Quistis had gone about this; she'd taken the Rinoa's deception personally. Yes, she'd 'escaped' on her watch, but it went deeper. Squall had no doubt that she'd charge Heartilly with everything in her legal arsenal and then some. But if Zone and Watts' situation had been as Squall feared, then she wasn't going to be safe anywhere in Timber. True, it was speculation, not to mention that her continued well-being wasn't his problem but, no matter how annoying she was, he wouldn't send her off to her death.

"Quistis… out of curiosity, what if she had information and ran because she's scared? I don't trust her either, but that was genuine fear that we saw today. If we can find her, what do you think of the possibilities are of getting her on-going protection?"

" _Protection? As in a new identity? I think you're putting the cart before the Chocobo because her act is probably smoke and mirrors. She could be just as guilty as her boyfriend."_

Great. Now he had this unexplained desire to correct her as Zone wasn't her boyfriend. But he knew that Quistis would take personal offence to anything said in Rinoa's defense – her behavior had been off. It was his job to notice that too. He trusted her years ago, but life can change in a day, let alone over a half of decade. He also believed that the problem was within the DEA and that's why it was hard to believe in her fully; then again, any issues about time were negated when he'd known the person he ended up trusting for mere hours. Not to mention, the spilt-second he trusted Seifer over Quistis, a lot of doors closed – so possibly did a friendship.

He hated the thought, but nobody was above suspicion. That's why he was good at his job; he was able to separate the personal and the professional. That's why he'd try logic one last time – Quistis was always the first person willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt; she believed in others to a fault.

This was a drastic step, but Squall needed to feel her out and see if her interest in bringing Rinoa in was about justice or silence. This also wasn't the first act he'd fooled her with today. Plus, if she was innocent like he hoped, then this gave her plausible deniability. Quistis had 'witnessed' Rinoa's escape firsthand and there shouldn't be a person at the DEA that would question the female agent's passion or dedication. Unfortunately, he knew that he was also using her – again, even if she had no idea, someone else would be reading her reports - someone who wanted to hurt Rinoa. He had to use her to communicate to the people that were guilty.

"Quistis, look it's a hypothetical," he reassured, making sure to use her name for familiarity; it garnered security or at least that's what they were taught. Using information that she'd once taught him against her felt wrong. "Say in this scenario we find her before whoever else is looking for her does and she has information that proves useful. Wouldn't relocation seem like a viable option?"

She was extremely quiet, an effect he apparently had over women today. Finally, she spoke, albeit softly. "You sound like you already believe her. When have you ever put yourself on the line for a witness? A few hours ago, you looked me in the eyes and stated that she was the local PD's problem."

"Look, I don't care what happens to her," he spat out defensively, grabbing a nearby empty bottle. His first instinct had been to throw it, but now it had become a matter of restraint. He didn't like being called out, nor did he like having another plan that had backfired unexpectedly. Without noticing, he'd begun to tap the glass against the table, shifting his irritation onto the object. It hadn't been intentional, but she'd given him with the perfect lead-in for his plan.

"I care about who her father is – you should too. I know you'd like to transfer back to Deling City. It's home. It's where you should be. Seriously, your friends would like you back, I'd like you back… And it's because of that that I can't overlook the possibility that if she dies later because we trusted the wrong person, we'll be held accountable. Caraway made sure I worked the case so she doesn't end up with a bullet in the brain. That's exactly what I'm doing. Just remember that no matter what name she tries to hide behind, she's still a Caraway - daddy's little princess. It doesn't matter how badly she and her boyfriend fucked up her personal lives - our job is to keep her alive and the blame off of us. If we can get her into a program, she's their problem."

He knew this next line was key – selling it to her or her superiors, whichever one took the bait. At that point, he'd stopped tapping the bottle, holding it in his hand. "…Unless there's a reason why you don't think that would work, that is. Take it to your superiors. Think about it."

When he stopped talking, he thought he heard the sound of breathing. He hoped to god it was Quistis on the phone, although that was acoustically impossible. Glancing across the room was a formality – there was no doubt. Though he couldn't say how long she'd been listening. But it didn't matter – any amount was too long.

He blamed being caught off guard on the caffeine drink; the foreign substance was the only feasible explanation.

It was obvious that she was doing her damndest to remain composed. Of course, his words sounded bad when taken out of context. Rinoa Heartilly wasn't stupid and if he'd just explained that he was using this opportunity to feel the situation out and see if Quistis was trustworthy, it might've done wonders. Then again, she could've laughed in his face just as easily. Squall had never corrected either Seifer or Rinoa about Quistis not being his girlfriend so it'd be pretty convenient if he mentioned that now.

Here he was trying to convince Quistis that this had simply been a career move by appeasing Caraway. To Squall, that seemed like the most believable excuse on his end to sell to Quistis.

The problem was, he'd also sold it someone else.

"…Going." Pulling the phone away, he muttered into the receiver. It wasn't a traditional valediction, but he wasn't one to stand by tradition. He didn't even allow Quistis to get a word in edgewise – not only did he hang up, but he also powered down the phone.

Standing up, he started to walk over, but found himself hesitate. It was his job to pay attention to the small details. That's why it took a second for everything register. She looked entirely… _different_.

She was cleaned up and traded in her 'talk to paw' shirt for an entirely-new look, one that left her drowning in hotel's one-size fits all bathrobes. Maybe the 'one-size' wasn't exactly unisex-friendly, because it hung down past her knees. Yes, he'd joked about her being short, she really wasn't - she was… small, petite? He never got those terms right for women, nor was he daring enough to even venture a guess. He'd grown up with a sister – that had been eye-opening enough. Between that and other observations, he knew that an accidentally-misused word didn't bode well for any man.

And given his current situation with Miss Heartilly, it didn't take being on the Dean's list to figure out this wouldn't end in sunshine and bunnies. As it was, he already expected her to turn around, putting as much distance between them as possible. He took another step forward as the tension swirled around him. He couldn't stop thinking that she looked like an entirely-different person. The white terrycloth was a stark contrast to her hair, the fact it was still wet reminded him of wet ink – again, he was never quite certain of the terms. Maybe what he was getting at was that her hair was longer than he'd realized, possibly hitting above her waistline. A few tapered strands rested in front of her shoulders, the rest fanned out around the robe.

He narrowed his eyes at his own observations. They sounded like… well, they sounded like a heaping load of _something_.

Still, he couldn't get past her hair, not because he was fascinated by or anything - he wasn't - it simply was from a work point-of-view. It was so much longer than he remembered and as someone who needed to be observant, that wasn't a good sign. Yes, she'd worn it pulled into a low ponytail the majority of the time but, unfortunately, that wasn't all that altered the length. It had been extremely matted but, until now, he'd hadn't considered the volume of blood.

Likely, it had been soaked up when she was leaning over or possibly even laying directly in the pools. No wonder she was so quiet in the bathroom; she had come face-to-face with reality. It had to have been a moment of déjà vu when all that came out. It had probably washed off as a steady stream of red going down the drain while she was taking a shower. He realized then what she'd probably done – she'd probably taken the shower first and then, after feeling weak at the sight of blood, she took a bath.

Honestly, he'd stopped thinking about things like that long ago, it was vanity and, on the battlefield, nobody gave a damn - ironic coming from the guy with the newly-acquired scar. But, in that regards, he'd seen far worse, been covered in far worse, but she wasn't a soldier, her mind had not been conditioned that way.

Squall hadn't allowed himself to humanize these situations for a very long time. That was a part of himself that he'd lost a long time ago. In his line of work, disassociation had been the key to his success and yet, as her eyes pierced him, hurt by his words, she became the epitome of his lost humanity. He hated that he'd allowed himself to see her that way, even a second of weakness was too much. If he allowed himself to humanize her, the dam he'd built to keep the demons would break under its weight.

Thankfully, he still had the ability to stop this – cruel and callous, yes, but necessary. All he had to do was stand by his own lies because they weren't entirely wrong. Yes, he may have been overly-blunt on the phone, but it was true that if Caraway was satisfied then everyone's career benefited - even Miss Heartilly couldn't disagree there. For even more justification, those were his initial thoughts when he first read her folder, when why he was chosen for this assignment finally clicked into place.

That led them to this moment – the one where nobody could've predicted her reaction.

The weight of their silence continued to be suffocating; it wasn't something tangible that could be controlled. He _wanted_ her to be angry, to tell him that he was a coldhearted excuse for a human being. He wanted her to point out that his vile-sounding words came off as a betrayal. Instead, all he could think about was how she'd trusted him with her life – he'd even emphasized that mutual trust was _a must_. Now he'd followed that up by saying he didn't care if she lived or died as long as the blame wasn't on him.

He could handle the angry words; he was used to angry words, but the look she was giving him… that too was different. She seemed vulnerable and hurt, but most importantly – there was no surprise. None.

Had she expected this, believing that it was simply a matter of when than if?

That thought clung to him as he took a few more steps forward so they were a normal distance apart. Standing there, he felt as foolish as he looked. Truthfully, he couldn't remember the last time he'd apologized… or how to even begin. At this point, his silence was most likely interpreted as an insult or, worse, it came off as some sort of dare to challenge him.

"I'm," he started, but stopped just as quickly. A second ago, he reminded himself that he had the ability to stop this. It was better for everyone (for him) if he did. It might seem heartless, but he shouldn't have to 'I'm sorry' for doing his job. He'd offer the truth, but would stop short of apologizing. If she was smart enough to listen and not jump to conclusions, then she'd more than understand what his intent had been. Hell, she should be apologizing to him for questioning his tactics… it was an interesting concept, considering that she hadn't yet spoken. Plus he should get credit for explaining his reasons – that's exactly what she'd asked for in the car, right?

"That was Quistis on the phone. I-"

Rinoa's chest tightened as she listened, completely appalled at his words. She'd been holding her breath from his almost-apology. She was glad that he'd stopped; the only thing the man knew about 'sincerity' was the definition listed in the dictionary. That's why she wasn't about to stand here and listen to any more of his empty explanations. That's why she'd cut him off, refusing to be another victim of his empty words.

She didn't yell, but spoke firmly. "Of course it was and, of course, you were. Just stop." She followed it up by making a low swiping motion with her hand and hoped that he'd take the hint.

He did. Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose, but outwardly remained indifferent. She was too stubborn to listen – no surprise there. Then the fault lied with her and he was free and clear of accountability. He'd actually hoped that he wouldn't be right, that she'd be smart enough to hear him out, but maybe he should've expected it. He laughed bitterly to himself – he'd expected her stubbornness while she'd expected to be betrayed. They made the perfect dysfunctional team.

Folding her arms, she turned toward the front door, unable to look at him. "You said that Seifer was coming, right? Then it's better I wait in the bathroom until then. Daddy's little _princess_ wants to make it easier for you and Agent Trepe to talk about her _."_ She stifled her tears by biting her lip to a point she tasted the faint taste of blood.

Turning back, she smiled weakly, meeting his eyes as her words softly echoed her regrets. "You were right about one thing - I do keep fucking up my life… I was even naive enough to think you believed all of what I'd said, not just what you chose to believe. It may be a small difference to you between boyfriend and a male friend when I specifically told you that he was my best friend, but that's exactly what your problem is. I... I feel sorry for you, you might seem perfect on paper, but I don't think I'm the only one who's fucked up my life. I wish I could, but I can't be around you anymore."

"Wait, just listen." Reaching forward, he tried to grab her around the wrist. To his surprise, she countered perfectly, twisting away while simultaneously pushing him away. It had been an actual defensive move, although she'd not executed it fully or he'd have been in a lot more pain. Still, she'd caught him off guard… and not for the first time today.

"I listened to you enough. Thank you. I'm assuming that you'll be leaving for Deling City tomorrow; I thank you for your service. I'm sure someone else who's qualified will be assigned to protect me. If there's anything you want to say in the meantime, please inform Seifer. If it's important, the message will be relayed. "

The tone of her voice was telling, soft but extremely meticulous. It was evident that she was purposely choosing her words carefully. He wasn't sure how to fix this, or even if he should, but watching her leave, his mouth agape – some part of his humanity wanted apologize. Then again, he had no assurance that she'd even accept it at this stage but, even if she didn't, he should've made the effort. Yet, as the words balanced on the tip of his tongue, the logical side of him decided it was better for them both to let it be.

To his surprise, it seemed that as she was closing the door, she had one more thing to say. The thing that haunted him the most was the lack of malice in her voice once more. "Agent Leonhart, I don't know what you've been led to believe, but if my father did pull you off a train, it wasn't about me. That means would mean he has to care… Choose to believe what you will, but…"

Rinoa swallowed, thinking back to the car. If there was any hope for him to balance his career and have any semblance of a personal life – the first step remained his to take.

"And Agent Leonhart, I know it's not my place, but since this is probably the last time I'll see you… If you care that much about Agent Trepe and want her to come home to Deling City, don't wait for my father's good graces; you'll only be disappointed. I can see how she feels; it's rather obvious - don't take it for granted. The fact is once you start down this path alone, pride often keeps from you from coming back. I wish someone would've told my father that… then maybe he would've had a daughter and not a burden."

She had no idea why she kept going; she just wanted him to understand – save him from his own fate. If she was wrong, so be it, at least someone cared enough to try. "I had a telescope when I was a child and spent far too many hours gazing into the sky. I wasn't looking for stars… I was looking for worlds that paralleled the one I was living in. My life here could never be changed, but knowing that I was wanted by my father _somewhere_ in one of those worlds was all I ever wanted. Those words weren't real…maybe my dreams wouldn't have been so out of reach if I'd just looked at the stars instead. I learned from a young age that reality can be cold and empty unless you change it. Like I said, it's none of my business but, don't get to a point in life were you can't change it. Save yourself, if you want her to come home, maybe start off by telling her that."

By the time she closed the door, her body had already begun trembling uncontrollably. She wasn't sure what was happening as she pressed her back against the door for support.

"Goodbye Squall Leonhart." The words were so tender that they couldn't be picked up by the human ear - she'd mouthed them all the same. She hated goodbyes, but at least this one was better than the other two she'd been forced to say today.

Alone, there was no need to hold back all the tears that had been threatening to fall. She'd kept her mind off today by replacing the hurt with concern. Now, there was nothing else to do beside be alone with her pain… and humiliation. Why not pile it on?

Still, embarrassment was easier to deal with than grief, so she'd purposely allow herself to fall victim to it. She was the one who'd opened her big mouth in the first place. It sounded like Leonhart and Trepe believed that she was a constant screw-up – that's why her offering life-altering advice was even more ironic. She also reminded herself that this wasn't a moment of weakness, but there was something about him that brought out all those long-buried insecurities. She wasn't angry at Agent Leonhart. That would make as much sense as being upset at the stars in the sky for actually existing, when her parallel words were nothing but a pipedream.

Falling to the floor, she hugged herself, pulling her knees to her chest. In a split-second, her life had deteriorated into nothing, she had nothing – not even the clothes on her back were hers, those belonged to the hotel. What home she had was lost with her friend. There were no insurance policies; they didn't have the resources and they already had day-to-day concerns meeting ends. She couldn't even count the times she'd dug into the couch-cushions, pants' pockets, or her purse for change in hopes of just keeping the water on. Actually, once they'd met Watts, he'd helped them a lot. Well, she _thought_ he had but now…she wasn't quite so sure.

She wouldn't speak ill of the dead… not today.

She was upset, she was embarrassed, and she'd completely stuck her nose into something that was not even close to being her business.

And even though she was at an all-time low, lying on the floor, she could hold her head up about one thing - she'd remained true to herself. When she said those words to Agent Leonhart, she'd spoken from her heart and, just as importantly, she hadn't lied. She wanted what was best for him. It was hard to explain as she'd only met him today but, she was drawn to his spirit… aura, soul?

…And that was a huge red flag. She'd officially jumped over an invisible line and landed directly onto creepy territory. It's just that she… well, she couldn't explain. So some feelings were impossible to put into thoughts, to label with pedestrian words. That _might've_ been because she was on the verge of becoming delirious, but it felt as if she'd known Agent Leonhart much longer.

"… _Felt like she's known him longer."_

She wanted to laugh. In fact, if she and Zone had heard those thoughts, they would've laughed their asses off. Not to mention her " _felt like I've known him for longer_ " sounded like the hallmark line of every gag-inducing, chick-flick ever made - Zone's pet term for every romantic comedy ever made, not hers. To be fair, she didn't use a dramatic qualifier of time such as "she'd felt like she'd known him _forever_ " or, even worse, " _since the beginning of time_." So by that, she managed to convince herself that hers wasn't quite as bad.

But she wasn't in a movie, and this wasn't about her story, it was about theirs. Although, she had to laugh at that - Squall and Quistis weren't chick-flick-y at all. Honestly, they were much more classic novel material, one praised by both readers and literary scholars for centuries - even their names alluded to refinement. Her life, well… it wasn't a movie or a book, but rather like a hodgepodge of random thoughts. Actually, she'd say that she was the unsuspecting main character in a Mad Lib.

That thought was so random that, even between tears, she managed her first honest smile in quite some time. Zone and Watts would've loved that comparison too, plus they'd both agree that it described her life perfectly. She wished that she could tell them that. Maybe somewhere in that parallel universe, the one she had to believe existed, she'd be able to laugh along with them. But if that place didn't exist, she had to believe that being dead didn't stop them from watching over her.

That led her to one of the most ridiculous, ill-timed thoughts ever. It was official - her life had to be a Mad Lib. If she had the money, she'd buy Zone a special tombstone - the first ever engraving in the form of a Mad Lib. He'd love it. Even as she sat here, she could imagine how her friends would have fun filling this in. Zone would put every adverb as 'sexily' and there was no doubt he'd use 'beautiful' as an adjective. Watts would insist on using 'train' or 'Balamb fish' as nouns. She actually loved thinking about this; it was simply amazing how random thoughts brought a smile to her face.

She was still crying, but as she sexily sat up and leaned against the Balamb fish, she thought of her beautiful friends and knew they were somewhere together, playing trains.

That was it, the wayward thought that finally allowed her to let go…

She no longer feared letting her emotions show; they had once been a disease festering beneath the surface, but no longer. And after the emotional dam gave way, she was finally able to grasp a few moments of clarity, no matter how brief - even about him. She didn't know how to word her thoughts without coming off as shallow, but there was something innately haunting about him. It was more than his striking looks, piercing eyes, deep laugh, or stunning smile. She laughed to herself, but it came out as a short whimper – to paraphrase the Mad Lib that was her life, he was sexily beautiful. Yet, he was more than that, she'd taken a glimpse of the person he was inside – even he didn't know it himself.

But she'd seen it - something so astounding that it left her tongue-tied and speechless. She wished she had the courage to tell him, but fate had another design. The only time her problem disappeared was when she crossed the line of social boundaries, encouraging him to open up to Quistis. And since she was being honest with herself, she knew that he was right when he'd confronted her in the car. She did have issues of petty jealousy, even with them, but how could she not? She'd seen them together; they were perfect – classic tale.

Today, Rinoa had lost every tangible thing in her life and so she reasoned that was why she'd become focused on helping them. If someone really was intent on killing her, at least she'd leave some sort of positive mark on this world. In ten years, if Squall and Quistis were to reminisce about her, maybe she'd be remembered for more than just having her father's blood. That's why she tried – it was a desperate move to positively be remembered when spoken about in past tense. It likely wouldn't take, but she still hoped that Squall Leonhart could be saved from himself.

Although one thought stood out above all others…

"…Sometimes the people who needed saving the most never see they're the ones in trouble."

…Basically, that was the only thing Squall could think as he stared at the bathroom door. Rinoa had no idea how serious this was.

He couldn't help her if she didn't want it; he couldn't save her even if she was in trouble. It was a lesson he'd learned long ago - some people were too stubborn to see the truth, even if it was written plainly in front of them.

His other thought was equally as disturbing and it was that maybe she'd already made peace with the likelihood that this wouldn't end well. It was equally as difficult to fight alongside someone who'd mentally resigned themselves to the worst. It was a form of weakness… and that was the worst part because he saw strength in her. He'd immediately noticed that from those first few moments on the ambulance, but it was buried underneath her insecurities. He wished he had the words to encourage her, but giving motivational speeches wasn't exactly his forte. He wasn't someone who drew the best in others out and he didn't make a good teacher either.

There was another thing that left him almost impressed and that was the way she'd talked about him and Quistis … It was almost like the words were coming from someone else - someone more positive, someone that radiated confidence. There were also the words that she'd said.

Okay, fine, the subject had always been a curse as, no matter where he went, he found that his personal life always tended to be the hottest topic at hand. All that aside, he believed that she'd been honest as there was something almost desperate in her words. And something in her tone haunted him far more than he'd care admit. Plus, he felt an unfamiliar, and oddly uncomfortable, tinge of guilt about not correcting her in regards to Quistis.

It was just that most of the time… well, there was no way to say this without sounding conceited on some level but, women were far more interested in him than they were about helping him do his job. Because of that, he'd almost been conditioned to mislead people in that regard or, in very rare cases, outright lie. Whatever he needed to say or have them believe, in order to make his job easier was what he found himself doing. He'd often deliberately mention Ellone, often omitting that she was his sister and letting others speculate on their relationship. It wasn't anything he was proud of, but if they thought he was taken, most left him alone – _most._

Fine, it was a little creepy and a lot wrong but, if he didn't mention her, women (and on a few occasions, men) would try flirting with him, batting their eyelashes or worse, _far worse._ Even when they were led to believe that he had a wife or girlfriend, it didn't always stop them. Again, some people didn't believe in the concept of boundaries. Miss Heartilly had also crossed a few with her last-minute advice, but her intent had been genuine – and no matter how wrong she was, it was a welcome change of pace.

His earlier comment in the car held absolutely true - people were curious by nature and alluding to a significant other usually satiated that curiosity. He never understood relationships or why people felt the need to be in one, women were… confusing. That's one of the reasons he'd never had a girlfriend; what physical relationships he had were few and even further in between, yet he never felt as if he was missing out on anything.

Still, as much as he hated the fact - he was human. Sometimes he'd think about it and wasn't above being prone to mistakes. Once. Never again; he hated himself for his stupidity and weakness. As for now, it wasn't as if opportunities never presented themselves - he had plenty of chances. Actually, there were even offers during the seminar and even one in the hotel lobby. Unfortunately, that thought brought him full-circle; he was back to the 'purposely misleading' thing. He'd politely deflected the front desk clerk by saying he was here with his wife. He didn't think Miss Heartilly needed to know that detail, plus he'd technically told her that she didn't have to be _his_ wife. However, her and Josh, that was another story – again he'd taken misleading to a near art form.

It all brought him back to this moment. Yes, misleading her had been partly out of habit and then it was also partly about pride, but beyond that, there had been no reason. It wasn't as if she'd shown interest… _in him_. She preferred blonds. Not that he noticed.

Maybe that's why her words struck such a chord with him; for once someone had been genuine, without a real ulterior motive. Not a lot of people had talked to him like that – correction – he didn't _allow_ people to talk to him like that outside of Ellone. Quistis would try, but he would've either snapped at her or ignored her, being well aware of her underlying motives.

Still, none of that meant he knew how to fix this now. He couldn't risk getting her more upset - all it would take was one person calling in a complaint to the front desk and everything would be shot to hell. It pained him to admit this but, he hoped that Seifer would get here soon.

He cursed under his breath, walking away. If she was going to stay in the bathroom, more power to her. She was the one who refuted reason. Why should he berate himself over something that only she had the ability to control?

* * *

_ 9:51 pm, October 10 _ _ th  _

He'd returned to the computer and _tried_ to do some investigating. He then _tried_ to look up information on both Caraway and Heartilly for research. He saw all the pictures of her as a young adult, coming out parties at sixteen, and other prestigious social events that made his stomach crawl just looking at. Then, just like she'd stated, she fell off the social radar – and not only did she fall, she'd vanished. Caraway certainly hadn't. Squall had _tried_ to do a lot of things, including putting the fact that all he ever seemed to do was upset her out of his mind. _Tried._

Yeah, so much for trying.

Sometime after the first hour had passed, he'd placed a pillow and blanket outside the bathroom door. He knocked, telling her it was outside… just in case she wanted it.

The only response he received was silence.

He walked away.

After the second hour had passed, he went to the mini-bar and had taken a bunch of snacks from it. Neither of them had eaten lunch or dinner so logic dictated that she had to be hungry. Even if she wasn't, she needed to eat to keep her strength up. He never contemplated the price; in fact, he'd grabbed one of everything that wasn't a liquid. For drinks, he decided on bottled water, an ice tea, and few brands of sodas, grabbing both diet and regular. He knew the inherent risk as taking the 'diet' may backfire greatly. But tonight, it was a gamble he was willing to take.

He'd also grabbed the last of the coffee drinks. She'd been holding coffee during the interrogation so he knew that she liked that. And honestly, after his third bottle, he'd started to enjoy them; apparently, they'd been an acquired taste.

But it wasn't just the coffee-flavored drink that was a shot in the dark, it all was. Unfortunately, her file didn't specifically state which drinks, snacks, and candy bars were her favorites. Maybe as a future failsafe, getting those answers should be mandatory during questioning – right after 'state your name' and 'state your whereabouts….'

Arms full, he'd started to shut the door, but heard his stomach growl, another reminder that he'd all-together skipped several meals today. Reaching back in, he skillfully balanced everything while grabbing an extra bag of mixed nuts for himself and a 'Behemoth' high-energy drink.

Walking back to the bathroom, he placed the mishmash of items on top of the untouched blanket and pillow. He knocked once more, telling her about the food, along with the pillow and blanket – just in case she'd missed it the first time. He knew that she hadn't, but he couldn't help holding out hope.

He'd gotten his wish. She wasn't bothering him with stupid comments or stupid questions, it was just him and silence… it's what he wanted. Right?

Again, his only choice was to walk away.

Instead of being productive, he watched the minutes flip by on the computer monitor. Precisely at midnight, he received a coded email from Seifer – the man had an annoying flare for the dramatic. Squall replied, giving their location, although he honestly had no idea what to expect when the man got here. It actually worried him and that said something. Seifer would either be livid about Rinoa locking herself way or too thankful they'd succeeded to dwell on it. Yeah, right.

Just after one, there was a soft knock on the door. When Squall finally answered, he was met with the sight of the detective casually leaning against the doorframe, all while holding a pizza in his hand.

Seifer smirked before asking, "Miss me, Fed-Boy?"


	14. Confessions and Omissions…

Did _he_ miss Seifer? A loaded question if ever he'd heard one. Still, Squall had sworn to uphold the bureau's ethics - integrity was the second word in their motto after all.

"No." The word fell from his mouth with firm disgust.

Seifer feigned acting hurt. Mister super-serious still had the personality of wooden spoon. "Aww, come on? How about taking some time to answer? Compile a list of pros and cons or make spreadsheets…whatever you suits do for fun. I need a new best friend and this could be the start of an epic bromance."

" _Hell_ no."

Again, Squall found the truth liberating. However, if Squall opted for full disclosure, he'd have to admit that spreadsheets and listing pros-and-cons _were_ his idea of fun. Recently, that's how he'd spent his vacation but, contrary to other's beliefs, he wasn't a masochist – and admitting that would've been used purely as ammunition.

"Seriously Leonhart, I bring offerings of food and presents and I still get attitude? Whatever man, pride cometh before a fall…so after you get knocked off that pedestal, I'll be down here mingling with the other mere mortals. Give me a call and we'll hit the bars. I need a decent wingman, girls dig that good-cop, boring-ass cop thing."

"Just get inside," Squall demanded gruffly.

Agent Leonhart came to one glaring conclusion: the detective was a jackass. Still, whatever negativity he felt, he separated the personal from the professional. Rinoa's safety was more important than bruised pride and deflated egos. It was the same ability that allowed him to admit the (rather painful) truth: seeing Seifer gave him the slightest amount of relief. Again, a "slight" amount - as in too small to officially gauge - like a _sliver_ of a _shred_ of a _piece._

Plus Squall had to admit that the idea of bringing pizza wasn't a completely-horrible one. Seifer seemed to understand situations where your hands were tied – _figuratively_ that is, not literally…although there'd be absolutely no shock about the latter. None. Squall certainly wasn't going to judge the detective's recreational activities unless they involved his witness. Some things were off limits and Rinoa Heartilly was chief among them. Feeling ill, he blamed the bottled coffee for that entire line of thinking. He wished it all could be scrubbed from his mind although, as far as he knew, there was no such thing as brain bleach. However, if it existed, there'd be a fairly-decent chance the inventor had crossed paths with Seifer Almasy.

"…By the way, I know you missed me." Seifer snorted a reply, stepping inside. "Maybe I should've clarified – my greeting wasn't a question, it was a statement. Everyone misses me, it's my infectious personality."

Clenching his jaw, Squall refused to be baited. As Seifer walked by, the agent noticed a plastic bag hanging around his wrist and something clenched in his free hand.

Seifer read the agent's mind as he continued to taunt him. Balancing the pizza in one hand, he shoved the unknown item into Squall's chest. "Here you go, something else you don't deserve."

Squall glanced down, but closed the door before continuing. Again, he had to remind himself that this wasn't personal and there were positives about Seifer's arrival. First and foremost, Squall hoped that the detective would be able to talk some sense into Heartilly as for some inexplicable reason, they had a rapport. Secondly, not-so-important but still semi-pressing, after his second drink, Squall _really_ needed to use restroom. Mentioning it to her would prove fruitless and asking wouldn't win him any favors. Honestly, he'd gone far longer on missions but, by the same token, he'd also planned ahead in those instances.

Once the door was secured, Seifer turned back to face his annoying counterpart. "See, Fed-Boy, don't say I never got you anything, well besides that conversation-starter on your forehead. See with me it's always give, give, give… However, this present actually serves a purpose, unlike the other one, although it does vastly improve that thing you call a face." By the look on the agent's face, Seifer knew he'd better ease up on the pot-shots. He actually felt bad, but he'd deal with that later. "Geesh, whatever man, learn to loosen up or you're going to crash-and-burn at your wingman gig. Anyway, that's a disposable phone with a none-traceable number. I got one for myself too. Think of it as a present from all us lowly, little boys in blue hoping one day to grow up and be a big, bad Fed like yourself. I'm sure you can fast track my name to be a suit."

"Are you ever serious?" Squall said curtly, not elaborating in the name of peace. He also hated to admit the phone was useful…too bad the voice on the other end would be Almasy's.

"You wouldn't like me when I'm serious."

Squall wondered exactly what meeting 'serious Seifer' entailed; unfortunately, he'd probably find out shortly – once the detective got wind of Rinoa's whereabouts.

…Which wouldn't be long. Seifer noticed the small mountain of snacks anchored by a folded blanket and pillow. "Mommy and daddy letting you have your first big-boy sleepover or something?"

And as predicted, it all crashed into him like a deranged Grendel. Squall physically witnessed the smugness transform into anger - both the pizza and the bag were angrily tossed onto the nearest bed.

Obliterating all personal bounties, Seifer got into his face. "Where is she…and _what the fuck_ did you do!?"

Squall's façade remained firm. Outwardly, he matched Seifer's intensity but, inside he knew that he was guilty as hell. Still, he'd be damned to admit that. It could be exploited as a weakness; so it was better to take the verbal berating and react indifferently. However, before either of them managed another word, the bathroom door opened.

"I'm here." Her voice had been so hoarse, they barely sounded like words.

None too gently, Seifer pushed past Squall, but the way he treated Rinoa remained a direct contrast. Lightly placing his hands on either side of her shoulders, he watched her reaction. "What did he do?"

"Nothing. I needed time alone." The redness in her face and puffy eyes betrayed everything she said.

"You're lying."

"See-" she stopped as a distinctive sob escaped her lips. Yes, she'd known what he'd done for her, but seeing his efforts gave it new meaning. He really _had_ tried. She turned back to Seifer. "He tried to make me comfortable, but I couldn't…you know, it's over. It doesn't matter." With a wistful smile, she changed the subject after looking over to the bed. "Pizza? I'm starving."

"I knew you'd be." Seifer eyes narrowed as he looked at the agent cockily. It was obvious that his food offering trumped Squall's measly little showing. No, it wasn't a contest…but he'd still won. "Deep-dish Dollet style, your favorite."

"…Pepperoni and black olives?" she asked, a noticeable change in her tone.

"Of course. And the other half _is_ …" he drew it out, leading her to answer.

"Everything under the sun _but_ black olives." She laughed at his 'fill-in-the-blank' type statement. Ironically enough, she'd been thinking something similar. That's why she knew neither man would understand her next words, but a bit of mystery never hurt, "She said sexily."

"Rin, you're talking about yourself in third person… _very oddly_ in third person. Besides that, you guessed it," Seifer proudly announced, reaching over to grab the bag he'd brought with him. "Plates, napkins, and even an orange soda. Had to go to an all-night gas station, pay triple price, but as your knight in shining trench coat, had to go that extra step, milady."

Squall froze. Briefly, he contemplated the possibility of being sucked into a black hole, then being spit out as the third-wheel to someone's date. Had it not been for the fact that Heartilly was still clad only in a bathrobe and the lack of distorted space-and-time, he'd have bought into that theory. Instead, he had no idea what the hell he'd just witnessed and he'd worked on several top-secret assignments. Simply put, he was _very_ confused.

Not only confused - betrayed. There was one very logical explanation here – he was being played.

"You two know each other," Squall accused. He never raised his voice, but his tone was laced with malice, equally holding the two parties at fault. "You set me up."

Seifer scoffed. Leonhart was some agent; the black olives on the pizza had better people skills.

"Stuff a breadstick in it, Fed-Boy. I've never met Rinoa, but apparently buying her pizza requires federal clearance. Sorry, didn't get that memo. Maybe if you'd ask nicely, she'll share. Then again, she locked herself in a bathroom to get away from you so….you're _probably_ wise to stick with your assorted junk food."

"Don't you dare to talk down to me." Squall refused to be played. "If you two didn't have a previous relationship, how in the hell would you know what shit she likes on her pizza? I'm not an idiot, favorite pizza toppings aren't listed in a file. It also explains this _thing_ you two have going on." This time he stared pointedly at Rinoa; he expected this from Almasy, but not her. She battered her brown eyes and he'd foolishly fallen for her innocent act.

He was so much better than any of this.

Squall was mad at himself for showing weakness; he was mad at her for using him. It was rare that he allowed anything to bother him on a personal level, but he was done. He wouldn't allow this case, _or anyone involved_ , to get under his skin. "It's my fault. I should've been more thorough earlier - after I asked about sleeping with Zone, I should've expanded the question to include members of the Timber PD."

Rinoa's mouth fell open, but she refused to shed a tear over Leonhart's self-hatred. She turned away and walked to the bed, sitting before her legs collapsed beneath her. She had no idea why she was being attacked like that. Apparently, trying to cover for him earlier didn't mean a damn thing. He was a fucking ass…an ass who got to her like nobody else she'd ever known. She hated that. And, in this moment, she _wanted_ to hate him.

Seifer felt the same – _and more._

"Oh, that's fucking rich Leonhart. How about another scar? This time it won't be accidental." Seifer did his best not to yell. He wasn't stupid enough to blow their cover, although this asshole made it a challenge. "You. Me. Bathroom… _now_ ," he said through gritted teeth.

"That's officially the worst offer I had today. I'll pass."

Thankfully, Seifer remained calm, laughing it off. "Don't fuckin' flatter yourself. I know junkies, dealers, and crack whores who'd make me less ill… But whatever, I was trying to save you some embarrassment, but screw you."

"I didn't know Seifer," a voice said forcefully from the bed, cutting between the two men. She didn't want to hear them argue about her alleged promiscuity, plus having Seifer as backup was a mental boost. In all honestly, having someone believe in her was all she ever wanted.

"…But _again_ , thank you Agent Leonhart for jumping to conclusions about my character. I don't know why I'm explaining anything _to you_ , but the pizza thing came up at the crime scene. Before you got there, Seifer was trying to keep me…sane. It was normal conversation stuff; he was just talking anything to help keep me focused. A pizza delivery truck drove by…he was desperate, so he talked about his favorite pizza places."

"She was going into shock – I was trying to keep her present. So, I latched onto pizza… everyone loves pizza, right? I asked her about toppings. Yes, it was random, but life doesn't follow guidelines. Like I said, way to jump to conclusions. You know, it takes some amazing skill to come off as the world's largest prick in such a short amount of time." For a second time, Seifer forcefully pushed past Leonhart - this time the impact was enough to knock him off balance.

Carefully, he placed his hand on Rinoa's shoulder, flashing her a lopsided grin. "You okay?"

"Thanks." She smiled back, biting her lower lip.

He then looked toward Squall. "Now, since you feel like a royal idiot – at least _you should_. It's time for our little convo in the bathroom… But first, how about an apology to the lady?"

Shaking her head, Rinoa knew the man better than that. "No, it's all right, Seifer. From his perspective, I can see why he was suspicious…he was just doing his job."

"Are you serious?" Seifer stepped away in disbelief. There was being 'nice,' and then there was being taken in by this buffoon. It pained him to see that she was falling for his cold, aloof persona that was as healthy as gorging on 'snack mountain' over there. Yes, she was likely to be emotionally-vulnerable after today, but this joker wasn't the answer – unless the question was, "what suit-wearing asshole just reached puberty?"

Seifer needed to talk sense into her. "Look, I get why you want to defend the guy. On the outside you can see the whole fed with authority thing but a badge doesn't make him a decent human being. You locked yourself in a bathroom because of him and yet you're giving him another free pass? No, Rinoa, he owes you a helluva lot more than an apology, but it's at least a start. I know his type; he's not even man enough to do that."

"Seifer, he doesn't. I wasn't locked in a bathroom because of him," she said quietly. Her hand trembled as she ran it across the duvet. She found it increasingly difficult to look at either man as her composure waned. "I needed to be alone…so I took a bath to relax. No one here is to blame…if you're so focused on blame - blame the person who murdered my friends. They owe me an apology….they owe me so much more than can ever be repaid."

Squall had been silent, contemplating her words. "Almasy, I'll meet you in the bathroom. Give me a minute."

Seifer glanced to Rinoa - arguing against her would be moot. He didn't like this, but it wasn't his call. She even nodded her consent knowing that Seifer would make doubly-sure before leaving her alone. The ironic part was that Leonhart accused them of being in some sort of relationship, but it wasn't him that was in the picture here. He saw it, he sensed it at the crime scene, but he hoped they wouldn't figure it out – for their sake. It wouldn't end well, hell, it didn't even start well.

"Whatever, but I swear-" He paused, getting into the agent's face and giving a warning, "One wrong move asshole and…well, you know what - just don't fucking make a wrong move. I don't like mistakes. _Got it_?"

The truth was, Squall had already felt bad - Seifer just reinforced it. Honestly, he had no excuse for his behavior or what made him snap, but that seemed to be a reoccurring theme; this entire day had been an anomaly. If he was this shitty at his job all the time, he'd lost his job long ago. He wasn't used to making such erroneous lapses in judgment and, if he did, he lived by the philosophy that admitting them was a weakness.

…Yet, how many times could he hurt her?

He tried to deny it, but it actually bothered him how naturally it came to him. Just like it bothered him that jumping to conclusions and branding the victim as a liar, was the easier than talking to her. Earlier, he was upset that she hadn't given the chance to explain, but if she hadn't been placed in that position or he hadn't said the lies to Quistis the first place – his words wouldn't have needed explanations. The more he tried with her, the more he seemed to make mistakes. He tensed involuntarily the more _'he tried.'_

Why was he trying? Why did he almost care?

He shouldn't overthink this. It was simple - he felt bad…and Caraway was her father. He kept telling himself that like it would make a difference, like it would somehow explain everything.

As he looked down to her, she couldn't even look at him. Almasy really did have a way with people, not that he was jealous of the detective, but sometimes wished he'd gained more of a tolerance over the years. Squall knew he needed to venture into uncharted territory and step out of his comfort zone – and interacting with people was as uncomfortable as it got for him. Glancing over his shoulder, he made sure that Almasy was safely in the bathroom before he began.

He'd started to open his mouth, but for a man who carefully planned his words, his mind was a blank slate. The first thing he saw, besides her, was the pizza box. "Go ahead, eat. I know you're starving. I'll take a seat. I can…wait."

Way to go. That was smooth. His keen observation skills were astounding. The university would be proud as he just demonstrated why he was in the top percentile of class. Really.

Knowing that standing was often about asserting dominance, he deliberately sat on the other bed leveling the playing field – _in theory_. It felt uncomfortable, which probably indicated that he was on the right track. Whatever his instincts were, he'd opt for the opposite. Maybe for 'fun,' he'd make a spreadsheet of all his mistakes later…that was if the government's computer had enough memory.

Looking over, she'd already grabbed a piece of pizza and a plate. There was something interesting about her eating; he tried to act as if he wasn't watching, but he could already tell she was nervous – another instance he chalked up to being interested about the study of humans and their cultural habits. Actually, she reminded him of a little chipmunk nibbling on her food, overly-chewing each bite. But to be fair, having people stare at him, even briefly, while he ate was a huge pet peeve. For that reason alone, he avoided eating at social functions. Truthfully, he purposely avoided eating in front of others altogether. That's why felt utterly hypocritical as he tried not to glance over at her.

She was hungry, that much was obvious. Even so, she managed only two bites before placing her food on the nightstand. He felt responsible – another line item to add to his spreadsheet of mistakes. He needed to finish this so they could go about their separate lives - because in his gut _he knew_ their encounter was coming to an end. No doubt Almasy had been in contact with his supervisor - given their circumstance, it was only logical. Squall wasn't a 'hands on' agent when it came to witnesses, so he'd most likely be reassigned. There was at least some consolation in the fact that she was more at ease around Detective Almasy, maybe she'd even be able to eat.

Rinoa smiled nervously, motioning to her food. "…I should be polite and wait. Unless you want some, I mean you've got to be hungry too, right?"

"No." He shook his head, "I had a bag of nuts for dinner."

Looking down, she clasped hands together on her lap. Her eyes met his as she nervously began tripping on her own words. "Oh…nuts, I...Sorry, didn't know."

He needed to get this out before he decided the end result would be pointless.

"Miss Heartilly, there's no excuse for my behavior. It was unprofessional, more than that, it's impolite." He took a deep breath as he found himself glancing away.

He could give a deposition in front of a grand jury and not bat an eyelash, yet he couldn't look at her through an entire sentence. Seriously, he was way more tired than he realized or apologizing was way more difficult than he'd anticipated. That's why he pushed himself, to get this over with – to say two words that he believed were _usually_ a sign of weakness.

"I'm sorry. I apologize for my actions."

She found herself studying him, drawing in a deep breath. There was no doubt how foreign those words were to him. If seeing his wallet, his smile, and hearing his laugh wasn't enough, she couldn't have been more in shock.

"What I said before was the truth, you shouldn't have to apologize for doing your job and it's not my place to question your choices." She shrugged her shoulders. "Agent Leonhart, it's your choices that have kept me safe…and difficult as it to accept, what you told Agent Trepe is correct. It's just when you're not ready to accept something, it can be difficult to hear the truth. You've already put your career on the line – that gesture alone means more to me than anything you could say about me… but again, that was more about me not being ready to hear the truth. But most of all, Agent Leonhart, you should never have to apologize for how you really feel."

"Miss Heartilly, I wouldn't apologize for something that I _really_ felt, but that wasn't the case here and again, what I implied about you and Detective Almasy…uncalled for."

"Thank you. You didn't have to apologize, but the fact you did…it's appreciated."

It really was appreciated. It was also appreciated that she'd managed to get through that sounding semi-coherent. How come the only time she sounded as if she had half a brain was when she was talking about his girlfriend or defending his choices? There was part of her that believed he'd opened up to her, not a lot, but more than most people saw. He was guarded and although that might've been work-related or because of Caraway, it was there (…maybe?). Then again, maybe those so-called 'breakthroughs' were simply the imagined byproduct of wishful thinking.

Sometimes, when your only dream is to be needed, one tends to see things that really aren't there.

Maybe it was for that reason, wanting to be different - _to be remembered_ \- that she found herself fighting the desire to throw her arms around him and give him a hug, a real tight one, to thank him for all he'd done. Then again, she didn't want to freak him out any more than he already had, plus she was well-aware that Agent Leonhart hadn't crossed the threshold of being anywhere near okay with friendly hugs – maybe a begrudging fist bump, but even that pushed boundaries.

"I know I didn't _have to_ , but I needed to." After admitting that, he looked her in the eyes and had an inexplicable need to clarify, "Actually, Miss Heartilly, I needed to apologize but, more importantly, I _wanted_ to – what I said was really bad. I'm sorry."

"You said that already," she laughed, "but I kinda liked hearing it a second time."

"You're not hearing it a third," he responded irritably. He felt like she was poking fun at his lack of familiarity in these types of social interactions. The ironic thing was that he hadn't figured out that nervous laughter was her way of dealing with the same insecurity.

Looking away, he stared towards the bathroom. "I should go figure out what he wants."

She nodded in understanding; Seifer probably wasn't known for his patience. "Yeah, guess you should."

Standing up, she had this sudden need to keep him here, for just a little longer. She had a feeling that _this_ was goodbye. Before her mind had time to process, she'd reached out and grabbed his wrist. She then realized her mistake, retracting it just as quickly.

He hadn't said anything. Instead, he was looking down at where she'd grabbed his arm. The agent was probably afraid that she'd gotten pizza sauce on it. With her luck, that would've been par for the course, then again, he wasn't fairing much better either. It seemed they'd both caught a break as there didn't appear to be a stain. When he finally looked down to her, she smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, about that…I um," she stammered.

As if on cue, she'd returned to her tongue-tied ways. That's what she got for patting herself on her back for making it through _one_ speech without falling apart. This was no longer just habit alone - she'd transformed stammering into a highly-evolved art form, sadly it didn't transfer into something marketable on her resume.

Somehow, she muddled forward. "I wanted to know if you're leaving, I mean, for real. I know Timber isn't your favorite place…and you said there are others capable of handling this."

"It's not certain, but it's probable… I may remain on the case, but not in a hands-on capacity." He cursed his choice of words; it was especially ill-timed after she'd touched him - something he still found extremely unsettling. "Most likely, I work as a direct liaison between your father and the involved agencies. In a way, I'll still be responsible, but from behind the scenes. I'm sure someone will keep you informed." _Seifer will keep you informed._ He didn't say that, then again it went without saying.

"Thanks." She nodded as if she'd accepted his words. In her heart, she knew her father didn't care enough to step in. She wasn't wasting any more time talking about _that man_. Leonhart still held onto his pre-set notions - the truth would disappoint him soon enough. Still, there was one more thing she needed to clarify; she couldn't say goodbye without clarification.

"Agent Leonhart, I need to say something before you leave. What I said earlier about Quistis… it was entirely overstepping my bounds."

He shifted at the mention of the name, redistributing the weight he'd been carrying. Thankfully, she wasn't able to spot the nuances of body language. He'd allowed the topic of Quistis to remain dormant long but his reasoning would now be in question. That sealed it; nothing could be gained from the truth, possibly the opposite. It wasn't about appeasing her conscience as he wasn't guilty of anything but doing his job.

In hindsight, time proved his next words to be just as damning. Not because they were a lie…because they were the truth.

"It's fine. It was…uncomfortable, but it was some of the kindness words I've ever heard. People always want something from me but…what you said, it came across differently."

"If that's how your life's been, then…" Her words trailed off. Sympathy was what everyone else offered – he didn't want it; he didn't ask for it. So, she took a different track, agreed with it. "I get that...I was raised with certain expectations. My life was predetermined and it seemed that everyone else wanting something from me. I thought I could get out but…there really is no 'out.' No matter who you are, your station in life, people will always find something they want."

Rinoa's laugh was diminutive and timid, anxious and unsure, borne from nervousness and feeling completely out of place. She stood to look him in the eyes, but turned away, suddenly feeling ashamed. No matter how she played it off, she was no better than the others. "I wish I could say I'm different, but I also wanted something from you…to believe me. That's why I hope you find what you're looking for in your career, your life…because believing me isn't worth the price. But, now I'm asking something else – no matter what path you choose, choose for yourself."

For her, lightning always strikes countless times – she managed to say the words, but only when they were laced with goodbyes. It should've been the opposite, goodbyes were supposed to be hard to say. Yet to her, some came naturally, where others didn't but, given her life, it made sense in its own twisted way.

Even though she couldn't look at him, he had no problem looking at her. "…Why would-?"

He stopped abruptly as the bathroom door opened jerked open. The sound startled them both, but only Rinoa visibly flinched. "Yo Leonhart, stop flirting with the witness and get your ass in here."

That was…uncomfortable. Rinoa tensed, crossed her arms, and became awkwardly-aware that she was only wearing a bathrobe – a realization that hadn't fully sunk before. She smiled, playing the distraction off as a joke.

"Ignore him."

"Already am."

She chuckled. "I kinda got that impression. Guess the idea of being BFFs is out of the question."

He tilted his head ever-so-slightly, stupefied that _this_ was the comment she'd chosen to say. "…Yeah."

"You're being summoned by Detective Almasy and I probably should eat…nothing personal. I've just never been comfortable eating in front of others. I'm aware…I make no sense."

No. She made perfect sense to him, but he didn't comment – it was one of those things that didn't need to be said.

There was one more point of contention between them; glancing over her shoulder, she motioned towards 'snack mountain.' In the bathroom, she'd wanted distance between them - like the entire Galbadia continent's worth, but after seeing how much effort he'd actually put forth, she owed him this.

"Thank you. I should've eaten something because I was feeling weak…and being stubborn." She turned back, sucking her bottom lip nervously, "Unfortunately, the stubborn outweighed the weak."

The bathroom door opened wider, as Seifer's head made an appearance this time. "Yo, seriously, this is becoming a little awkward. Next time, put a damn sock on the door if you don't want to be interrupted."

Squall snapped back this time, "Shut up."

"You're such an ass." No matter the intent, both preferred to interpret this as Seifer's polite way of stating, _"Take your time, I'll be patiently waiting until you're done_."

…Or maybe not.

Squall too had one last thing he wanted to make clear, the phone call. To him, it was ancient history, but others don't let go so easily. No matter his opinion, her life had never been expendable. "About the phone call and how it sounded, I don't blame you for not hearing me out before, but I'd like to clarify…if you're willing."

Her heart sank; she hadn't drawn parallels between their situations until now. He'd tried for hours to get her to listen, but with her then-mindset, she just _couldn't_. Yet, when the tables had turned, and he'd jumped to a conclusion, she was upset and blamed him for not listening. Yes, the circumstances weren't exactly the same, but they were similar enough. They both believed the worst and while the past couldn't be changed, she wouldn't deny him now.

"Well, you did buy me the most expensive dinner ever…so seems about fair." She'd tried to break the tension with humor, albeit badly. She inwardly winced at her delivery.

He stared at her blankly, but decided to respond anyways. "Miss Heartilly, I know you have no reason to believe this, but the call was mostly an act, similar to the situation at the police station. I have a working theory the lines could have been tapped, especially since she'd used a DEA-issued mobile. It was…hurtful, but for all of our sakes, it had to sound plausible, even the anger and betrayal."

There was more, but he decided against it when he felt another knot in his stomach. It's why he avoided any personal interactions. Guilt, no matter how minute, was bothersome. It seemed that with every action, he had to react by either omitting something or misleading her. Like now, he refused to admit his secondary reason, which was to deceive Quistis until he was sure of her loyalties. That's why the truth was his alone, as it didn't involve Heartilly

Still, his answer must've sufficed as she was able to make direct eye contact. It was actually unnerving because it appeared she was studying him. He hated that. He hated when people tried to read him, but maybe she'd see the truth. She blinked, looking away. There was something in her that seemed like it had been overwhelmed. He almost wanted to ask but it wasn't his business.

"Makes sense. Caraway wasn't above bugging lines. And please…" she hesitated, losing her train of thought, a familiar occurrence. Swallowing, she blinked several times, doing her best to look at him. Try as she might, she nearly spat out the next words. "…And you can call me Rinoa."

"No, I really can't." He saw her disappointment and maybe he should've appeased her by saying 'fine,' but this time, he really couldn't. The timing of her request had actually thrown him a bit, enough that he fell into comfortable patters, causing the next few words to come out robotic. "That's all. That's the position on the phone call. However, because of the on-going investigation, I cannot divulge any further information. Moving forward, Detective Almasy will remain your contact."

He mentally winced – he sounded like he was reciting from a damn textbook. Thankfully, his humanity picked that moment to kick in. "…Plus, you and he…well, it's obvious you've built a special rapport."

He paused a second time, adding the next part with a tinge of sarcasm, "And apparently, he thinks he's your knight."

She forced a laugh. It was better than tears. "I trust him. He actually reminds me of Zone. And yes, the irony isn't lost on me. But believe me, he's certainly not my knight…I stopped believing in fairytales long ago." She leaned in, stage-whispering the next part to keep it from prying ears, "And since I'm being honest, he's more like a trusted court jester…but for the love of everything sane, don't repeat that. He wouldn't let it go."

"Secret's safe." He swallowed, taking a step back. She'd only leaned in for that second, but out of habit, he had the need to retreat, even if it was just a step. "Since you're being honest, I have a question but, if you prefer not to answer, I'll respect that choice."

For a person who spent so much time predicting the negatives in human behavior, it was difficult to accept when actions deviated from what he'd expected on paper. When faced with something positive or something that went beyond the norm, especially when it involved him, people were – _she was_ \- unexplainable. For three hours, she'd refused communication; his logical conclusion was that her anger would've re reached a boiling point and the minute she stepped out of the bathroom, she'd explode. She hadn't. Her reaction was the opposite – kindness.

She nodded, encouraging him to ask.

"You avoided me for hours, but the first thing out of your mouth was defending me to Detective Almasy…I don't understand."

"Stop trying to." She shrugged. "Trying to understand will drive you crazy – sometimes people do things that don't make sense. And let's face it, you sort of put a rather large target on your head."

He looked at her with what she could only describe as half-smirk of agreement. "That's a jab at the new addition to my face, isn't it? The one courtesy of your knight…sorry, your jester."

Seifer's decided to throw in a 'friendly' reminder of his presence. "Yo, Fed-Boy, I heard that. Seriously, is this where I tell you two get a hotel room? …Oh wait, never mind, carry on."

"Speak of the devil… Seriously, I think he's the devil," Squall added sharply.

"Be nice," she laughed, giving him a playful slap on the arm. He tensed, but didn't say anything as she continued. "And no, my comment had nothing to do with your cut. See, if I wanted to be mean, I could've said that Seifer was slaying the evil dragon, but since you're not _that_ bad… I'll go with the annoying Bite Bug."

"I should be offended, but since you didn't go with ogre or troll. I'll count my blessings."

He started to smile, but caught himself beginning to relax. He had no idea what the hell that was about. Maybe it was because it was close to two in the morning, he hadn't had any decent food, and with little sleep from the night before, and all those things were taking its toll on him. That said, he was still sharp enough to know that she'd avoided answering his question. If it had been under different circumstances, he would've been upset, but this time he couldn't be. He'd said from the start that responding was a choice. Then again, he was a firm believer that people should answer in a straightforward manner. He would rather have her decline to answer outright than do a song and dance.

Knitting his eyebrows, he looked at her. "If you didn't feel comfortable answering, just say so."

Rinoa blinked a few times, talk about irony. If she understood correctly – he was upset because she hadn't answered a question about _why she wasn't upset_ with him. It was official - this was the Squall Leonhart way of dividing by zero.

"You make no sense," she began, hugging her arms around her midsection. Not that she would have known but, her body language suggested that she was closing herself off – something he found interesting.

"You want an answer? All right, I'll give you one. You are irritating, brash, rude – strike that – _inappropriately_ rude, the list could go on, but for the entire list of negatives - you're a good person. In this world, that trait goes a long way with me. Of course, not everyone's going to feel that way. I can be upset with the way you handle things, but I can't be upset at what you're trying to do."

Awkwardly, she choked out a laugh, unable to gage his response. He just stared at her and rendered her thoughts incoherent. She felt her body tense as his eyes seemed to look through her – talk about an inopportune to be spellbound. It might've been cliché, but she'd never forget them. Ever.

"All right." His voice sounded… _empty_.

Had she done something wrong? She wasn't used to putting herself out there, but he made her want to open up. He turned to walk away, but she made the ill-advised decision to go for broke. Lunging forward, she grabbed his arm. He did an about-face so quickly, she instantly regretted her choice. It was obvious that being touched wasn't something he was comfortable with, yet she kept somehow finding a way to do just that.

She quickly decided this wasn't a good idea, at all, but had frozen to the spot. His scowl spoke volumes, but he didn't jerk away, he didn't yell, he stood straight, more confused by her actions than she was. He quickly composed himself, staring down at her. That snapped her back to reality, finally detaching from his arm.

"Saying _wait_ would've been just as effective."

"Yes, but not as fun…wait. What I meant, was I used to play football with the boys growing up, guess the tackling instincts are still there." She would've made a mad dash for the bathroom, but something told her she wouldn't fare any better there.

"I stand corrected. Your method is effective, if I ignore the fact this isn't football," Squall deadpanned. He decided against telling her it would've been a horrible tackle, _considering._ Apparently, Rinoa wasn't embarrassed to throw her arms around people, just embarrassed to admit that she did. Maybe he'd be a good 'wingman' and clue Seifer in about bringing a football with him or…maybe not.

Biting her lip, she smiled impishly. "Sorry, I just wanted to say I get sidetracked."

His brows knitted in confusion. "You tackled me to tell me you get sidetracked?"

"That's not what I mean… I'm saying I answered just about everything you didn't ask, but nothing you really did." Stepping back, she glanced down. "You may not believe me, but see…I didn't have many people to trust growing up. It's one thing talking to someone about random things, but another thing…"

"…to open up?" He finished the sentence for her.

Seeing her there, he saw something new, something vulnerable. She had been protecting herself by being equal parts playful and stubborn. That was the real her, but there was something beyond that. Most of all, he saw a person afraid of being hurt, being judged. He saw a person who had taken a completely-different path, but ended up being just as lost. He may have been projecting, but hopefully he knew better.

"Exactly." Forcing a smile, she continued, "In the bathroom, I had time to think…and cry…and cry again…and then do more thinking. I thought of everything, from my childhood to my mother, to all the mistakes I've ever made. I thought of all the things that have gone wrong and the times I wanted to give up. I thought of everything including Zone and Watts and the person they thought I could be. As cliché as it sounds, life's too short focus on the negative."

He watched the tears stream down her face. Normally, they'd bother him, but these had been a form of cleansing. Remembering Seifer's comments about napkins, he quickly reached into the bag to get one. With a soft 'thanks,' she accepted it, wiping her eyes as she continued.

"Anyways, I was lying there, no longer able to cry…somehow, I managed to doze off. It wasn't the most comfortable, but my only thought was - _I survived._ I was probably supposed to die but, beyond any reasonable explanation, I didn't. And then there was you…someone who didn't know me, but believed me all the same. You risked so much…and seeing you smile didn't hurt your case either," she said, trying to keep it relatively upbeat.

Words rarely fazed him, although the next thing would come close. "You're a good person Squall Leonhart. About you and Quistis…I meant everything. I hope she realizes how lucky she is, then again, I hope you realize how lucky you are. It's understandable... she isn't my biggest fan. I still hope she's the one who can save you."

That omission just sort of slipped out naturally - thinking them was one thing, saying them was another. His demeanor remained steadfast, although his brain simply couldn't process it.

 _Save?_ Save him from what? Sure, there were inherent dangers on the job, but it equaled others in his field. While he honestly couldn't make rhyme or reason of that remark, he decided not to dwell on it. For once, someone who had no outward reason to care did just that – she cared. That concept was…scary as hell. Unaware of his own actions, he'd closed his eyes, losing himself within his own thoughts.

The split-second he allowed reality in, his eyes flew open and his demeanor became the portrait of indifference. Clearing his throat, he decided to end this, once and for all.

"I need to get in there, I'm…concerned. He's been fairly quiet, _considering_. God only knows what he's doing for entertainment," he said, gesturing towards the bathroom door with his hand.

Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, Rinoa misinterpreted the meaning. "Oh, ah, wow," she chuckled awkwardly, "… he really is proud of his big file."

The look on Squall's face said it _all_.

Leave it to her to take one of the most emotionally-honest moments she'd had well, _ever_ , with anyone and kill it with a joke better fitted for one of Zone's naughty magazines. Her nerves had taken hold, leading to another absurd conclusion. To be fair, she'd spent nearly her entire adolescent years around males. There was no doubt that that's _exactly_ what any of them would've meant.

Ashamed, she covered her face as she felt her cheeks burning. "God, you meant he was probably listening to us….I'm so embarrassed."

He clenched his jaw, responding with the only logical answer. "I would be too."

Her assumption had been so utterly ridiculous that he nearly smiled in secondhand embarrassment. Thankfully, the gesture was so foreign that even the slightest twitch was felt.

With a curt nod, he excused himself. The conversation had become _way_ too uncomfortable for his liking, although that had little to do with the miscommunication. Truthfully, it wasn't like him to become vested in someone's reasoning unless it case-related. It felt entirely wrong.

The fact was that he hadn't lived up to professional standards today – his or the bureau's. He'd been distracted and snappy. He'd been curious and _almost_ concerned. He didn't like it; he much preferred his stagnantly-grumpy self.

After several warning knocks, he entered the bathroom – still with a tad more apprehension than normal. Turned out that Heartilly's words had etched some very unwanted concerns into his head and, although what he found was surprising, it wasn't _that_ surprising. Seifer had been sitting on the edge of the bathtub, completely engrossed in playing a game on his mobile phone.

"Really? _That's_ what you're doing."

Seifer snorted without looking up. "Well, it's better than listening to your painful attempts to hit on the witness. Word on the street is that Funguars have more game than you… and four times the personality and sex appeal."

"I don't need your shit so don't start. Now, what's so damn urgent?"

"Well, I was going to warn you to stay the hell away from her, but after hearing you, I think the warning isn't needed. I'd never insult Rinoa like that."

Squall reached his limit. As much as he wanted to take a swing at this asshole, he couldn't go down that road. Still, he wasn't about to be stand here and be disrespected like that. In one swipe, he batted the phone out of the detective's hands. It ricocheted off the shower walls, hit the tub's bottom, and then unceremoniously broke into three pieces.

"Fuck man, I was gonna beat that level! You know how long I've been working on that stage of Disgruntled Chocobos? Those damn Cactuars would've been salad fodder, part of my balanced breakfast."

"Play with your damn birdies later, what did you want to tell me?"

"What-the fuck-ever. How about I say that I heard every pathetic thing you said 'cause sound travels into here? Or I could say that the Chocobos aren't the only ones disgruntled - your boss is looking for you. _Head-Fed_ was none-too-pleased you've fallen off the grid. Of course, we know that's good, so congrats on not completely sucking ass at your job."

"Thanks for the compliment," he responded dryly. "I need to get a hold of him, but not here. I also need to ditch the government-issued car. I'll rent under an alias if needed."

"May I suggest using Seymour Butz? A classic in its own right and aptly-fitting." Reaching into the bathtub, Seifer retrieved his phone and then clutched it tightly. " _Little-Baby_."

Since they were no longer twelve-years-old, Squall ignored Seifer's comments. Then again, with the mentality around here, determining the mean age seemed impossible. "I need to get in contact with Director Kramer, but want to head a few blocks down before trying my phone. That should also change its last known location. Keep the laptop, it's safe to use - unlike my phone, it's secure. I cashed in a favor from a colleague in cyber crimes. Maybe you can find your Chocobo game on there…or maybe do some actual work."

Seifer reached into his pocket, grabbing a set of keys. "Screw a few blocks, Rinoa's worth more than that – head to a completely different district. I'm letting you use _Big-Baby_ , but if there's one scratch on her, I'm coming after you and kicking your scrawny ass."

"Really? One scratch on your _car_?" Squall replied angrily as he snatched the keys. It pained him when Almasy was right, but further was better.

"Good one, Leonhart. Still, one ding on Big-Baby and that chicken scratch on your face will be _nothing_ compared to what's coming your way, got it?" He scanned Squall's wound, feeling a pinch of guilt. Frankly, it could've been either of them. To be blunt, if it had been him, he would've gone bat-shit insane. Seifer did give props to Squall for taking it in stride.

Using his finger, Seifer made a slashing motion across his forehead. "Sorry about that. Battle scars and all. Think of it as a conversation starter, a great way to pick up women. They go for that sort of thing. Seriously, consider filling out that application to be my wingman." His only response was an evil glower. "Sorry, my bad, Fed-Boy. Think of it as a way to pick up men then? Animals? Office furniture? Whatever your thing is."

Just as Squall was reaching for the doorknob to leave, Seifer asked one more question. "Are you going to say goodbye…in case you're reassigned? Might be the last time you see her."

He swallowed as his fingers wrapped around the knob. He was never one for goodbyes. "I'm sure our paths will cross."

Seifer kept his voice down. "You know, I was with Quistis when you called. If you were serious about getting Rinoa into witness relocation, well…your paths will never cross."

Squall turned around. "If the DEA is as involved like I think they are, she'll have to disappear."

"I know." The detective looked down, shaking his head. All traces of humor had vanished as Seifer said the next words. "That's why it's probably best your paths don't cross."

Squall was curious about the comment, but decided against asking. Although Seifer was the last person he thought would be speaking the truth, the man was right.

"Seifer, take care of her arm, I wasn't able to."

"That's not a goodbye." Seifer stood in disbelief.

No it wasn't, but it was looking out for her.

"We already said our goodbyes," Squall stated firmly before he walked out of the bathroom…and then out of the hotel altogether.

("Just a Timber Girl" - by [PuftPrin](http://puftprin.deviantart.com/art/Just-a-Timber-Girl-351135283))


	15. This Too Shall Pass…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter notes:** I think I'd mentioned this before, but wanted to say it again – I've deviated from my norm in this story. Okay, obviously as it's an AU, but after Castle's I've avoided real-life references/holidays. Of course, soon as I made Squall FBI and Quistis DEA that was blown to heck. The one thing too is this will follow our calendar year. So yes, there will be Christmas/New Year's etc. in this story. Since Santa Clause gets mentioned, I wanted to explain. .
> 
> Also, a few references with permission. First, the comment about tropical drink plastic sword fight was from a fic by Wayward Tempest that I'd helped on. Also, the television show about marrying a Chocobo - that one belongs to Bebedora. It was so random, it screamed me. Oh, last chapter I added this, but it might've been missed, I drew art for Seifer's "Disgruntled Chocobos." The DeviantART link is on profile.
> 
> Finally, I have no idea what I was thinking humor-wise when I wrote this. Trust me, Seifer brings out that side of me. Who knew? If I thought Zell in After the Fall was fun, I fear for myself and my sanity. All I can say is…run. I've really enjoyed writing Seifer here, especially his friendship with Rinoa. My goal is hopefully for those who aren't normally thrilled with his character, you'll appreciate his mixture of sarcasm, loyalty, and bad puns. Also, I do want to say that Seifer is a tad bit grumpy at Squall this chapter, Rinoa's more forgiving about him walking out without saying goodbye than he is. But the oddest bromance of the century will make up, fear not! :D

2:57am, October 11th

All her life Rinoa strived to remain the eternal optimist, but tonight…tonight she feared that part of herself died alongside her friends.

After Squall left, Rinoa didn't feel better, but that was on her. Earlier, she'd foolishly clung to the hope that once Seifer arrived at the hotel, things would change. Foolishly, she still needed to think that one person had the power to change everything – a path she'd been no stranger to walking. In this case, she'd emotionally placed this burden on Seifer. It wasn't on Squall - that had been his choice the moment he'd walked out of her life without so much as a goodbye.

To him, she was history; that's exactly how she'd remember him – past tense.

Sighing in bed, Rinoa knew that assessment wasn't fair. She was projecting her anger onto a man who couldn't even defend himself. Not that he'd care. Fine, maybe that was unfair, unwarranted, because deep inside, she knew it wasn't on him, it was on her. Rinoa just wasn't at a point where she could accept that any change began and ended with her. Emotionally, it remained easier to lash out – and Agent Leonhart was a prime target. Squall annoyed her, frustrated her, and yet at the same time, she made her feel safe. It made no sense. Hell, life made no sense and that's why she was angry - with him, with her, with the world. Because she didn't understand, it was easier to place her faith in someone else, because putting faith herself was utterly terrifying.

Maybe there was a sliver of optimism left after all. Rinoa had to believe that this was her low and, after hitting bottom, only one direction remained. Well, technically two – but the second wasn't an option.

There was hope, but the challenge was finding it for herself.

For now, there was Seifer. He actually made a great stepping stone between whatever this was and independence. He'd be forceful when it was warranted, but somehow avoided coming off as condescending. That thought made her lips press tightly together, curling into what some may consider an 'almost' smile. That point needed some major revision as it should've specified that he wasn't condescending to her. However, he'd patronize the hell out of nearly everybody else, especially those he deemed worthy of needing his sarcastic ire. Like his 'big file,' he'd be the first to boast that his abilities in the department of sarcasm were quite…impressive.

Maybe it was wrong…okay. Fine. It was wrong of her, but watching Seifer and Squall verbally spar had proven to be a rather unexpected form of entertainment. She felt guilty for even thinking that, but it wasn't like they were crazy enough to actually spar or anything. Okay, scratch that. They totally would've had the opportunity presented itself. She imagined those two would've sparred with whatever was handy…boxing gloves, fencing swords, toothpicks, plastic swords served with tropical drinks, motion-controlled fighting video games… Basically, anything and everything.

They were…competitive to say the least.

But it was the individual character flaws such as that that defined both men. It also seemed that they both liked to point out the other's shortcomings but, in truth, they were similar in many ways. The difference was however, Seifer was open about it. You knew exactly where he stood as he'd insult you to your face, whereas Squall would talk down to you, the look in his eyes making you feel like you paled in comparison. Admittedly, that had been her interpretation; she couldn't help the way she felt.

That aside, Seifer had been wonderful around her. He cleaned and changed her bandages, but said it would be stitched tomorrow. Apparently, even bad-asses had their weaknesses - pixilated birds with attitudes and needles appeared to be Seifer's. Rinoa assumed that women were also on that list but, for her own sanity, she refused to think about that. She wished Squall had followed through with her arm, but it really wasn't his fault. She was the one who spent the evening locked in a bathroom, making the choice for him.

Pushing that thought from her mind, she tried to drown her sorrows with orange soda and pizza. It wasn't until she'd scarfed down half of the pizza and nearly downed an entire two-liter. Yep, there it was…the sad realization that she'd transformed into the epitome of pathetic.

Crawling under the sheets, she needed to think about something to get her mind off…well, life. Sleeping would be impossible as every time she closed her eyes, her heart raced and she began to hyperventilate. It was similar to what happened in the car, but this time it was impossible to keep focus.

So, she grabbed the television remote, looking for anything but the news. Finally, she settled on a sports program. It seemed harmless, until they mentioned hockey. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the dresser; a thin, pitiable smile crossed her lips as she looked at the Timber Owls hat. Shaking her head, she placed sports on the 'things to avoid' list. She settled on a movie about a knight and a dragon. It was cheesy, loaded with bad overacting, and featured a paper-mâché dragon that looked like it had been painted by ten-year-olds but, if nothing else, Seifer could pick up a few pointers about the whole knight thing.

Unknowingly, she'd let out a sigh when her eyes landed on the hat, something that didn't go unnoticed by the man at the computer. Although he was kicking tail-feathers, an upset Rinoa was more important than upset Chocobos. Getting up, he grabbed a few candy bars from the table. Since Leonhart was kind enough to stimulate the local economy with his purchases, Seifer was kind enough to do his part, consuming his portion of the investments in Timber's future.

"Rinoa, you sure Agent Puberty Boy didn't say anything? You did lock yourself in a bathroom after all. Doesn't take being some uptight suit to figure out that an uptight suit was probably behind it."

She shrugged as he made his way to the bed, sitting down. "Maybe a little, but not like you think. It's just…complicated."

"Rocket science is complicated. Leonhart is simple. You know the type - privileged life, never worried about having a roof over his head." He chuckled at the irony. "Okay yeah, I get your history, but I don't hold it against you. Thankfully, you came to your senses before getting engaged to some assclown with a number after his name or, worse yet, a suit like Leonhart. Count your blessings." He saw her crestfallen expression and really wanted to punch that man. Instead, he used that energy to cheer her up. Standing and bowing slightly, he extended his hand to her. "Seifer Almasy the third of the Eastern Galbadia Almasys, new money. My grandmother found a way to bottle the carnal sexiness of the Almasy men and women, extracting the raw animal magnetism and turning it into designer colognes and perfumes, respectively."

"…Oh, so that's what I smell," she replied mockingly.

Retaking his seat, he kept a respectable distance. Rinoa really did remind him of a younger sister. He had no siblings, only a few cousins who he was close with, but he was a lot like Leonhart in one way – trust didn't come easy. He didn't have a lot of close friends but, the ones he had, he'd protect with his life. Still, he saw something in her - resilience. If their circumstances had been different, she could've easily been a friend, nothing more. Still, it was fun to keep up the ruse.

Looking down, she finally blurted it out. "What happens now?"

"You stop worrying. That's what. Tomorrow, once Fed-on-a-Stick's replacement arrives, we'll hash this out. But seriously, if Leonhart said or did anything, the guy is going to-"

"He didn't." She cut him off, wishing that she could squash the topic once and for all. "I think we both were reading too much into things. He's just so…infuriating. Who knows, maybe getting someone else to work the case will be good."

"You're so much nicer than I'd be."

Looking away, she thought of her friend. "You remind me of Zone." The moment it flew out of her mouth, she realized how bad that sounded, comparing a drug dealer to a narcotics officer. She hoped that didn't offend him. "Seifer, please don't-"

"Stop," he interrupted, but it wasn't rude like Squall's words often came across. "Rinoa, I know exactly what you meant. That's why I'm taking it as a compliment. We all make choices in life and it doesn't always change who we are inside. He was a good person who had an unfortunate accident."

"You know?" She looked at him questionably. Rinoa couldn't explain, but having someone understand, to confide in…it meant the world to her.

"My file is bigger, remember? Word on the street is Leonhart doesn't even have one… A file I mean."

Playfully, she nudged him in the ribs. "Be nice." Feeling better, she leaned onto her pillow. It was nice not having to walk on eggshells; then again, the only logical reason Seifer would be around shells would be because he egged something, most likely Leonhart's car. Damn, so much for squashing that topic. Maybe steering the conversation another direction would help.

"Speaking of 'being nice,' how'd it go with Quistis?"

"Idiot," she scolded herself. That's so much better. No, it wasn't him, but it was his girlfriend.

"Ah, Quistis, my darling, voluptuous Leggy-Fed… Man, I gotta tell you," he snickered.

"No, no, no…you don't 'gotta tell me.' Seriously, I'm not sure what possessed me to ask. For my sanity, whatever thought first popped into your mind – forget it. Take out the mental eraser and wipe any thoughts about her in that way right off your brain's chalkboard. I meant professionally. How'd it go professionally?"

"That's it, you're banned from all suit-related things - you've spent way too much time around one. His life's motto of 'all work and no play' is rubbing off on you and we gotta nip that nasty habit in the butt. Biology fact, you know that a stiff-as-a-board attitude can spread? It's a virus commonly-referred by its scientific name, Suit-Wearing-Cooties. Totally serious here."

Looking over, he knew that he was upholding his duty as knight…or maybe fulfilling his role as court jester - whichever kept her spirits higher. It was working as the poor girl was desperately trying not to fall into a fit of laughter.

Slyly he winked as he continued the science lesson. "See, Rinoa, you need to thank me, because once you're fully infected, damn suit-wearing-cooties are harder to get rid of than bed bugs. Leading Estharian scientist Piet… Yes, here's another absolutely-true-fact. Esthar apparently only has one scientist and he simply goes by 'Piet' like the rock star he is. Anyways, he proved the only way to eradicate suit-wearing-cooties aka SWC is by disrupting their cootie-sized Bluetooth headsets and then tell 'em their suits are cheap knockoffs made by Shumi con-artists. While they're freaking out, you finish pink-slipping their 'all work and no play' asses by blaring boy-band music. More useful info – neither large-size Fed-Boys or their cootie counterparts can handle the awesome power of five or more teenage boys singing at once. Harness the power for good, not evil."

It worked. Her laughter filled the air. He wanted her to forget, if only for a little while.

"You-you're…oh my…I have no idea… crazy doesn't even begin to scratch the surface."

"Crazy, huh?" just so you know, that's your first warning. After three strikes, you're on my list…and seriously, you don't want to on that list. It's a fate worse than an entire army of Fed-Boy's cooties sapping all the fun away until all you're left with his mottos and work ethics."

"List?" Her laughter hadn't subsided. "I think you've confused yourself with Santa Claus… and to clear up any confusion, between you and the guy in the red suit, he's the hotter one."

He reached over, throwing a pillow at her. "That's your second warning…seriously, you won't want to be on there."

"Wow…so ominous. But fine, I'll avoid the list." Rinoa emphasized 'list' by making air quotes with her fingers. Then it dawned on her, more of a feeling really but… he'd purposely avoided her question. Irony struck again as she'd done the same thing earlier. Squall called her on it; now she'd call Seifer on it. Maybe Leonhart's cooties were rubbing off because there was something to be said about his methods – now that was a thought she refused to analyze.

Sitting back up, she turned to face him as her laughter subsided. "Seifer, I...I can't help but think…well, it's like you're avoiding answering me. If I'm wrong, tell me…I'll believe you. The one thing you've always been is honest with me. I was wondering… um, how upset was she?" It hit her, she wasn't switching topics. It was the same one in disguise. Still, Rinoa had to know. No matter what, she didn't want to cause strain on anybody's relationship. "I need to know how upset Quistis is for her boyfriend risking his career over this case."

"His career…and his girlfriend?" Seifer was him-hawing around, badly at that. It was also the confirmation she needed; he had been avoiding her question.

And that he had. Rinoa had so much to think about, he didn't want to add more. But she trusted him and…damn it, that was his code. He'd never betray a friend who believed in him. No, she hadn't crossed into that category, but he liked her and, in their situation, trust was key. But if that's what Leonhart told her, she would feel betrayed.

Like a battle, once it began, there was no retreat. "About that…Quistis isn't in on our plan. I spent the night….omitting certain facts to her. In return, I spent countless hours hearing her complain about how untrustworthy you are, which is putting it very mildly. So, not a bonus for you, she really doesn't like you. But Rinoa, it's not personal. It's because she believes you ran instead helping save others' lives. Also, she thinks you screwed Squall."

Seifer chuckled. It wasn't exactly appropriate, but nobody ever called him appropriate. "You screwed his career, not him. I should clarify, although that'd give her another reason to start the anti-Rinoa fan club. To put it bluntly, Leonhart didn't want her involved. He can't trust her – yet. He wants to, but everyone in the DEA is suspect. So yeah, in summation, Leggy-Fed doesn't know, hates you, and won't date my awesome self, not for lack of trying. Also, now I have new reasons for kicking Fed-Boy's ass – again." Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed a candy bar. "Chocolate? Everything goes better with chocolate."

Talk about information overload. Responding to him was impossible, namely because all of her motor skills had simultaneously stopped functioning. It took her several seconds to kick-start her brain, finally accepting the one thing that made any sense out of that. Reaching out, she quickly snatched the chocolate from his hand.

"…You wanna help me kick his ass? You kinda look like you want to kick his ass."

She nodded in agreement as she unwrapped the candy bar. So much for being lady-like as she shoved half of the bar in her mouth.

"That's good. I knew you'd come over to the dark side."

After a resurgence of chocolate, she was finally able to piece together a response, "Quistis is his girlfriend… he's lying to his girlfriend. That's…bad. They're going to fight, because of him trying to help me. They can't fight…I mean she and Leonhart wouldn't…?"

Seifer glanced over, contemplating her comment. He didn't think she'd be hopeful about it but, after what he saw, he didn't know what to think. "First in our field, it's not about lying to a girlfriend; it's about doing a job. No matter the fallout, the guy's done something right, believing you… Quistis and Squall both understand what takes precedence on a case, both accept that with the job…and look what you did - you just made me defend him. I feel all icky inside. You owe me."

Breaking off a square of her chocolate, she handed it to him. He accepted the peace-offering with a genuine smile. "Better."

Inside though, he was really confused. It dawned on him that she honestly believed that the agents were dating…which may, or may not, have had to with his flippant comments at the crime scene, at the station, during questioning… Fine, Seifer had made many flippant comments. He'd admit that the misunderstanding could be his fault and, if it wasn't pertinent, Squall wouldn't correct it, especially in regards to his personal life. Although, Seifer wasn't stupid, whatever Leonhart and Trepe had - it wasn't as black and white as they tried to make it seem.

Quistis may have not been a 'girlfriend,' but she was something. Maybe she was just the poor sap who had to the misfortune of being around Leonhart when he reached puberty or maybe a friend with benefits. Damn it. Now he felt all icky again. He had to scrub that thought from his mind. The only thing he knew for sure was that Quistis wasn't in a serious relationship, she was fair game.

But Quistis really wasn't the problem; he sensed something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, given it had only spanned fourteen hours, but he had knack for things like these – he was infected with detective cooties-of-awesomeness if you will. It's what made him a great at his job but, in circumstances like these, it could make him a sucky person. Sometimes, misrepresented facts were better left alone. Squall hadn't corrected Rinoa and Seifer had a damn-good feeling that the subject had come up, no matter how indirectly.

The truth was, time made a difference. Twelve hours ago, Seifer thought it was cute the way Rinoa first looked at Squall… fine, more like nauseating, but now it was something different. If what he thought was true – was true – she'd be setting herself up for heartache.

So, yes, sometimes thinking the wrong thing was the right thing. Seifer had to remember that this wasn't about now, it was about the long-run. Plus, it wasn't his job to tell her that Squall and Quistis hadn't seen each other in five years.

"Rinoa, I don't know many details of their relationship…the idea anyone dating Leonhart makes me feel violently ill. Hell, I did my best to convince Quistis to move on to greener pastures…or put Leonhart out to pasture to end his misery. I just know it had something to do with pastures. But in all seriousness, it's what I said. It's his job and they both know the inherent risks… Still, if he's willing to pull the wool over her eyes like this, it's gonna get a little real. She's still human after all. Honestly, don't read too much into his actions – she could either be a risk or at risk. Either way, he has his reasons and, as much as it pains me to say, we've got to respect that."

Although her eyelids fluttered several times, Rinoa's eyes never opened as she drifted in and out of a weakened state of consciousness. Her mind hovered between two planes as it tried to rouse itself from sleep. But she relaxed, deciding that whatever seemed so urgent could wait. Still, something called to her – feelings, disjointed and broken, making no sense without context.

Sadness? Desperation?

…Loss? A pressing sense of loss. She didn't want to remember. Her mind protected her by allowing her to forget. The memories were there…too weak, too unclear to sort through the emotional clutter. Later, there was always later. Part of her conscious resigned itself to sleep, an act of self-preservation, while the other part battled for the opposite. It was that part that was currently proving victorious.

She tried to acclimate herself with her surroundings. Unfamiliar. Alien. Surroundings that were not her own. Her senses remained on overdrive while her mind focused on why. The tailored sheets, the soft feathery-mattress, the combination of pizza and coffee filling the air, two male voices that rarely spoke… (maybe?) the reasons were buried somewhere in her subconscious. Reasons that she was growing more leery of remembering.

The voices.

Those seemed the most important. She couldn't shake them; they had been the main reason she hadn't fallen back to sleep.

Good? Bad? Maybe the whispers were a source of misdirection – her subconscious manifesting a warning. In fact, she felt more than she understood. That's why her mind forced itself to draw parallels – a way for her to organize all these matted-down feelings. Alone. Lost. The sensation of drifting… it brought her back to being a child on her father's yacht. They went a few times after her mother died, but she was always alone. Searching…maybe the voices had been her mind's version of Siren's song?

On the boat, she would read, and dream, and imagine how awesome it would be to catch a glimpse of what she dubbed the 'sea angel.' Yet, she was equally terrified of the being. Siren represented mortality. Back then, it was beautifully-tragic and romantic tale, not to mention a six-year-old's chance to giggle at the scantly-clad drawings. As an adult, those views were still there, but there was also another story within a story. This was the real legend as old as time – group of men get lost, won't ask for directions, see a 'naked' woman lounging about, forget to steer ship, causing said ship to smash into a rock, it breaks into many pieces, and then everyone dies. She'd like to see them add that version into the folklore.

Wait, what was her mind doing? Drifting at sea, childhood fascination, and fears? Why experience those memories now? She wasn't on a boat, actually it felt more like she was cocooned in a blanket.

On that note, the voices she heard were nowhere as poetic as a Siren and were way too masculine…and too aggravated, but their irritation also kept her tethered here. Why did her mind pull these mostly-painful childhood memories, yet the present was… gone? That brought up the very distinct possibility that the voices she'd heard speaking, were simply that – voices in her head.

As she tried to open her eyes, her body shuddered. It hurt. She vaguely recalled tears – a lot of tears. Not as a child - now. She felt the tenderness, but she wouldn't give into the pain – determined to stave off these sensations of weakness.

She moved.

Correction, she attempted to move – the second thing she failed at in ten seconds. Her entire body ached. Shit. A sharp pain radiated from her arm, and traveled through her entire body. Maybe there really had been a Siren involved, because smashing into a rock felt like a rather viable possibility. But a rock seemed too…safe? No, it was more, something greater…akin to a warzone, but not quite. There had been death. She could smell it; she bathed in it.

The stench still surrounded her.

Her body suddenly lurched as everything became transparent. She remembered. Her physical injuries, the grittiness of the blood, her friends… or what had been left of one, that's why she couldn't sleep. She wanted to fight but all there was an invisible enemy and, as she sat up to turn over, she could feel the bile rise with her. She stopped, as the acidic fluid burned her throat, but she was able to keep it down. As she lay on the pillow, she wouldn't give up, but she'd also resigned to the fact that she shouldn't rush things either.

Then it dawned on her – the voices stopped. Did her movement jar their disappearance? There had been a hint of recognition in them, although not familiarity. Still, she wouldn't let it go that easily. She was stubborn as was proved last night when Sq-

"…Squallwaitisthatyou?" her voice had started hoarsely, but somehow managed to move into an upper register. She gasped simultaneously, which resulted in a weird near-inhuman sound – more in line with a startled cat. It didn't register that of all the things that came out of her mouth, the word Squall was among them.

The way she addressed him might have escaped her, but it didn't escape either man.

Squall felt his body tensed as the word felt awkward on his ears, but he didn't offer a reply - to do so would reinforce the notion that it had meant something. Instead, he'd set the case report down and got up to check on her.

Seifer's response was a little less rigid, unless mentally flipping 'Squall' the bird for not correcting her counted – and Seifer counted anything where he got to express his true feelings for Agent Ass. To put it bluntly, Seifer wasn't a happy camper - he was actually at the opposite end of the spectrum. For a man who seemed to imply his education was above all mere mortals, Squall continued to prove that he was the smartest dumb person he knew. Either that or he was blind when it came to the opposite sex of the species…although it seemed cruel to classify poor Rinoa as the same species. Rinoa's mind may have been clouded and that's why she'd call Squall - Squall rather than Agent Leonhart. If that seed wasn't removed, it would be planted in her subconscious – correction – the damn thing was already there, but maybe it could be stopped from sprouting roots. Seifer knew the truth – what Rinoa called Squall while still in a fog showed exactly the level familiarity Fed-Boy occupied in her head.

And yes, Seifer was well-aware that he was being a big ass, although a strikingly handsome one, hypocrite about this. He and Rinoa were on a first name basis, but she didn't have a thing for him. True, she might not yet realize that she had a thing for what's-his-face either and hopefully she never would. Knights weren't about romance, they were about loyalty. It's just that fairytales and the movie industry just liked to romanticize the shit out of everything. That's why he made the promise to help her, even if it meant stopping her before she'd become heartbroken.

Seifer would call it his 'hypocritic oath' but this situation was above puns…or maybe not so much. He was himself after all and experience proved that no situation was above one of his clever puns.

By now, Squall had made his way over to see check on her wounds. Besides a few superficial facial abrasions, her other injuries weren't visible. He specifically came over to check on her arm, but found that she was still cocooned in the blankets. That hadn't been too surprising as he'd already pegged her as a cover hog. Knowing what he did about her personality, the blankets represented a form of security. He'd seen that enough before.

He'd purposely avoided answering her, hoping that she'd shifted enough to see. Earlier, he tried to look at her arm – an attempt that failed. He'd honestly hoped to do it now without too much ado, but that hope was quickly dashed as well.

"Yes, it's me."

"…Yeah, it's really you," she replied facetiously, biting back her laughter. Yes, he was most definitely part of her imagination. It was to her credit that she'd managed to make the voices in her head sound convincing. Now that she had some of her wits about, she knew that when she slept, all she heard was Zone and Watts. Now that she was awake, it appeared to be Agent Leonhart.

"Nice try. You're gone, aren't you?" Everything had been indirect until she chided herself. "You're pathetic."

He didn't understand that last part of her comment. Granted, his exit was a tad abrupt and maybe some would consider it pathetic, especially given that his return hadn't been his choice. Those facts didn't matter. It was another comment that was best left alone. Actually, thinking about it, he didn't know how to interpret any part of her comment. He sat on the very edge of the bed, trying to look at her arm.

"I'm not gone, not that I'm aware of." He glanced over to the detective who apparently shared the same perplexed expression.

Truthfully, as far as Seifer was concerned, like many things out of Rinoa's mouth, it didn't make much sense either, but that's precisely why he liked her. Being around her, he was often reminded of what his Grandma Maude said about things that didn't make sense, "Instead of splittin' tail feathers, better to shake your tail feathers. Don't waste time worrying about things you can't get. Let 'em roll off you like water from a Chocobo's back…and then spend that time dancing naked in the rain."

True, his grandmother wasn't exactly a fountain of logic either, but she was infinitely passionate about life and, yes, even quite literal about dancing naked in the rain. Those were childhood memories that Seifer couldn't exactly scrub from his mind. Squall, on the other hand, would probably have a small coronary just hearing every pearl-of-wisdom that came out of her mouth.

Still, sense or not, his grandmother's zest for life ran circles around the agent's. In fact, Seifer considered her the world's natural cure for the perma-boringness Leonhart seemed to be afflicted with – the suit-cooties had already waved their flag of victory. The guy's emotionally-flat-lined response to Rinoa highlighted this ailment perfectly. "Yes, I was gone, but we can discuss that when you're more alert. I came over to check on your arm."

His tone wasn't harsh, but it wasn't dripping with concern either. That's how she knew he wasn't entirely a figment of her imagination. Her eyes flew opened. No, the pain suddenly didn't hurt any less; she just found the drive to push through.

That was another point that was about to make Seifer as disgruntled as his birds. A minute ago, she had trouble opening her eyes. Now, not only had she opened them, but she'd also managed to roll over, sit up, and throw her arms around him. He only wished that he had Chocobo egg to throw at the guy's head.

"You're back! Tell me I didn't get you fired."

Squall should've expected her reaction but that didn't stop his body from stiffening as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He'd never understand her innate need to fondle strangers. Maybe it was just something in the moment but, why it had to involve him, he had no idea. How had Seifer lucked out in all of this?

"Wait, Seifer, where's Seifer?"

And there it was. Maybe she'd go hang on the guy who'd helped her drown her sorrows in pizza and orange soda. Also, judging by the candy bar wrappers on the nightstand, both of them had indulged in their share of Squall's peace offerings.

"Yo, Rin, maybe detach from the fed, you might notice the only hot guy in the room. You know, the one working over here all by himself."

That had been the wake-up call she needed, causing her to pull away sheepishly, looking towards Seifer's voice. Folding her arms, she turned toward the detective skeptically. "Working, really?"

"Yes, thankyouvermuch." He purposely ran his words quickly together, mocking her earlier use of Squall's name. She hadn't caught on, but he knew the agent had and therein lay all the fun. "And if you must know, I'm currently working on possible angles and, you know, honing my skills. I'm going to get the perfect results we're all looking for."

"Liar. You're playing that Chocobo game."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I think I said. Right?"

He flashed her a grin, turning the monitor so she could see the screen. She'd give him credit - the man was creatively-committed to his cause.

"Voila! Angles, strategies, skills – the whole package. And you know, perfect results are the only way to get to the bonus levels. Now don't you feel fool-" She watched as his humor was replaced by shock. He jumped up, almost knocking down the table in the process as he hurried over, "Shit, are you okay!?"

Rinoa didn't understand. Did he mean beyond the obvious? Because no she wasn't okay - her friends had been murdered in front of her eyes. Her lips pressed tightly together as she tried to process this.

"Look at me." Squall's order confused her even more, especially when she had no choice but to comply. She felt his hands on either side of her face, making her turn towards him. His expression gave nothing away, at least compared to Seifer who had obviously been concerned or fearful…or something. Whatever it was, Rinoa had no doubt it was genuine, while Squall's façade was that of a robot. "Don't look down. Have your eyes look towards window if you must."

"Must… why?" She had no idea if Squall's lack of information was freaking her out or distracting her enough to stay somewhat calm.

"Miss Heartilly, it's your arm. The bandage from last night wasn't sufficient. I'm going to let go now – you will not look down. Keep your eyes straight ahead, towards the window."

Squall's words had been sharp, clear, concise; he made her want to listen no matter how much her natural instinct was to look down. The problem was, she didn't have to look – she suddenly knew. That earlier gritty feeling that lingered hadn't been from memories, it had been the present. He knew how she'd react to seeing the blood. In part, it didn't matter as the connection was already made. She could smell it, taste the acidic copper, and feel the heaviness as it infiltrated her senses.

Seifer came back in with a load of towels, some wet, some dry. "Leonhart, think you're going to end up paying for more than just the snacks. Place like this, I'm sure this designer shit adds up quick. But, hey let your frugalness flag fly with pride. At the next office costume party, take the sheet and cut two eye holes and do the ghost thing. Either with or without the sheet, you have that whole 'Dead-Fed' looks and personality going for you. Win-win."

"…I'm so, so sorry. Looks like I'm forcing you to buy the bathroom too." Rinoa closed her eyes, her body involuntarily shivering as someone ran a cool wet cloth along her arm. She tried to convince herself this had been beyond her control. She couldn't. It would be a damn lie. She was back at the truth. Because of her, her seemingly-selfish reasons, he couldn't stitch her arm. She wouldn't have bleed; he wouldn't be literally paying for her mistakes. To add to the sting, she'd seen the purchase price on the bathrobe. It was about the financial equivalent to forking over one of her kidneys.

"I'll find a way to pay you back for everything." Her breathing had become shallow, but she had to make this right. "I-I don't have much…but I don't like owing people. Do you accept kidneys as payment?"

"Not anymore. Making change for kidneys proved to be quite the challenge." Running the cloth near her neckline, Squall glanced up. It produced a moment of brief, albeit really uncomfortable, eye contact. "Miss Heartilly, don't think about the Gil. It's only money. If you want to pay me back – you can do that by keeping your mind focused on the case. We can use your help."

"Gagging on that silver spoon in your mouth there, Leonhard?" Seifer shot back contemplating his choices.

He could focus on the agent's pitiable attempt at humor or maybe he'd just focus on being annoyed with every-last-word that the jackass spewed. The choice was easy. Seifer focused on the latter, reiterating his point, "Screw that 'it's only money' shit. Be real, you're not footing bill, the FBI is – and none of this is her fault. So you know what, enough of your backhanded attempts at victim blaming. Real heroic of you there, Special Agent Leonhart, you're making your country proud."

Squall never held her responsible for anything, not even in the slightest. Obviously, his attempt at humor went over as well as expected. It was another lesson that perfectly demonstrated why trying wasn't worth the end result. As for the other asinine comments, Agent Leonhart refused to take the bait that Seifer was dangling in front of him. Instead, he coolly responded, "I'd ask what your problem is all of a sudden, but we can deal with whatever issues are between us once we get her to the apartment."

"Finally, a statement I can agree with."

"Wait, what apartment? What did I miss?" She'd started to turn, but Squall reached up, stopping her. She was glad for his quick reflexes, but something told her if he was going through this much trouble to keep her from looking, there was good reason for it.

"Everything, sleeping beauty."

If Squall had said that it wouldn't have been a compliment. From Seifer however, Rinoa took it as a term of endearment. He reminded her of Zone again. For some inexplicable reason, they both had some natural instinct that made them want to protect her. Now, she saw how it carried over into their speech, into their sense of humor, and even their compulsive drive when it came to video games - Zone had been no stranger to hurling Disgruntled Chocobos in the air. Unfortunately, something else the two men would've been completely united on was their attitude towards Agent Leonhart. Zone would've been leery based on his personality – or lack thereof in her friend's opinion – rather than the job he held.

Then again, she highly suspected that Squall wouldn't have liked Zone either.

"Fed-Boy here found a place for us. You know, it'll be like one those sitcoms from two decades ago where two guys move in a woman and all the neighbors wonder what the hell is going on. Then hijinks ensue on weekly basis until someone thinks they're above the show and leaves, only to be replaced by a no-name actor. Translation: Fed-Boy goes through puberty and it morphs him into Fed-Man, causing his superiority complex to reach critical mass. The 'powers that be' then send an agent straight out of training to stay with you until we hopefully bring someone to justice. Barring those turn of events, the show tanks and then is sent into reruns right after that show where the woman married a Chocobo."

Seifer knew that Rinoa had no idea what he'd just said, but Squall could read between the lines. He smirked, deciding to up the ante, make the ass squirm by covertly calling him out on his lie. "That was a crazy-ass decade now, wasn't it? That Chocobo show… you know, it never sold me on the premise for one minute, although that lead actress was hot – leggy as hell – just the way I like 'em. But who'd believe a woman like that would marry a Chocobo, one she hadn't seen in a long time…say maybe a half decade or so? Some television execs want you to buy whatever shit they put out there. Then again, that's probably why it epically failed."

"I'm sorry…I-I have no idea…" Rinoa shook her head slowly in confusion. There was too much extraneous information swirling around to make sense out of this – apartments, television shows, and people married to Chocobos? She vaguely recalled a sitcom out of Esthar that might've had that premise, but that was before she was born. It was kind of a cult-classic just like the show with the talking Hexadragon with the catchy theme song.

Still, what did any of that have to do with them one continent over and thirty years later?

There was a part of her that desperately tried to reason that she should know what Seifer was talking about. She could see Squall did – he didn't look confused at all. Rinoa already believed that she was a nuisance, keeping them from their lives. Now were they going to have to explain things to her like she was some child? Why not? They were already taking care of her and the bed sheets. Seifer and Squall were force to clean up her mess because the sight of blood made her stomach wretch.

"You're fine." Squall finally spoke, his eyes fixed on Seifer as he was behind Rinoa smirking in victory. "He's just being a jackass and having a laugh at my expense."

He didn't want to offer any further explanation, but that choice wasn't really his. He needed to explain the apartment part of the comment, beyond that she was on her own. Rinoa wasn't stupid. Confused in the moment - yes, stupid – no. If she continued to sort through Seifer's asshatery, she'd end up putting two and two together as in the show was a metaphor for his and Quistis' non-existent relationship. The Chocobo was Squall and the 'leggy' woman and the whole idea of them in a relationship was laughable. Okay, maybe Squall was projecting into it, but it was fairly obvious that Seifer's point was about people – aka Rinoa - believing whatever 'shit Squall put out there.'

He refused to give Seifer the satisfaction of being rattled. Doing his best, he rolled up the bathrobe's sleeve, but it kept falling down. "Before we go into anything else, I need to look at your arm. Can you take the top part of your robe off? It will be easier to see what I'm dealing with if you're just in your t-shirt."

With that comment she became very aware of her choice in wardrobe. She'd left her bra, jeans, and t-shirt in the bathroom.

"Um, yeah… I'm sort of not wearing anything..." Swallowing, she turned her head as much as possible. Wow, talk about ten degrees of embarrassment. The worst part was she was used to this and so much worse. Crud sex jokes were pretty much the norm because they considered her just one of the guys. True, Zone and Watts always toned it down for when she was around, but she didn't care and rarely was embarrassed. But today? Today she couldn't even seem to say the words bra or underwear without turning five shades of red, even more so because all she could think about was the way his fingers were wrapped around her arm.

To her own surprise, she blurted out a quick amendment. "Wait, underwear… I mean I'm wearing it." She suddenly wished for distraction, you know like a meteor falling from the sky…or Siren suddenly appearing long enough to make them look as she ran away. Sadly, no so such luck. It was up to her to save herself from this verbal nightmare. "I um, it's just that after I got out of the tub, I was clean and honestly, it was a tad bit more comfortable, you know?"

"Of course he knows - Squall usually takes his bra off to sleep too. Happy coincidence, no?

"The only happy coincidence here is that you actually seem to be knowledgeable about this information, Seifer. Do spill." Rinoa had no idea why she'd said it, but she was glad she did. Granted, she'd sort of implied something, but it seemed that Squall wasn't upset. In fact, she'd e dare say there'd been a fleeting instance of amusement on the agent's face… maybe? Sure, it could've been written off as wishful thinking, if she hadn't witnessed it firsthand – the faintest hint of a smile as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

"Good one Heartilly." Seifer patted her back as if he was congratulating her. "I have feeling you're quite the little minx when you want to be…or maybe a fox, even. I hear they consider hunting birds a game like say chickens or even the rare Chocobo."

He then turned his attention back to Squall, who was doing his best to examine her wound. This part of the morning was turning out to be more entertaining than playing his game. Speaking of which, nothing spelled the letters F-U-N like rubbing a little more salt into Leonhart's wound. He smirked knowingly. "Well Agent Puberty, still want her to take off her robe? Oh wait, guessing that's a negative? Want me to translate that too? Wark, wark, kweh?"

By now, Squall had removed the bandage and in the process, he hit a part of her arm that felt as if it was bruised to the bone. Her response had been a sharp intake of breath as his fingers gently continued to feel around area. It absolutely hadn't been the agent's intent, but the pain served as a distraction, keeping her from taking any meaning from Seifer's random need to speak in Chocobo tongue.

"Sorry. Just breathe."

"You were saying about the stitches?" she winced. "Any chance you've changed your mind."

"You know I haven't. I'm going to have to wrap this, it just needs to make it to we get to the apartment."

"Wait so the apartment was real? I thought you guys were joking about some sitcom."

His head didn't move, but Squall glanced over to Seifer, making eye contact. The agent's usual expression gave away no emotion, but this look spoke loud and clear. It was as if he was daring – or more like threatening - the detective to make a smart ass comment. But Seifer had his bit of fun already so he didn't indulge. This was always about Rinoa and getting her to a secured location and despite how entertaining it was to see Leonhart squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass, Seifer knew when to pull back.

Still, he planned on continuing said entertainment after she was safe at the apartment – not to mention that would allow Seifer time to get a new magnifying glass. Because much like his file - bigger was always better. And if he had to keep these two apart by preying on their awkwardness, he wasn't above attacking Squall at the jugular.

"The apartment is real but I don't know much about it since Fed-Roach is in charge of that. He and Meaty-Fed are setting it up so you'll have to ask him."

"His name is Special Agent Zell Dincht – so get it straight. Also, stop with the goddamned nicknames." Squall shot back, "Or hell, or even just pick one for me and then stick with it - this is getting ridiculous."

"Sorry, not happening. It's sorta my thing, plus as I gain insight into a person nicknames change. Come on, you've taken a psych 101 class with that fancy-schmancy degree of yours. See, my names represent the masks people wear and all that shit. Looking into my mirror, I see your true reflection – an annoying little bug that everyone tries to squash. You even scurried off without saying goodbye to Rinoa to go hide in the dirt or whatever. Then, after we fumigated the shit out of our lives, you managed to slip back in through a crack. So, yeah if you forced me to pick a nickname for you right now, I believe that Fed-Roach is most fitting. Let's put it this way - you're like a cockroach, but minus the 'cock.' And yes, I just went there."

Squall clenched his jaw as he continued cleaning her wound. He would not take the bait. He would not take the bait. He had an inkling that Seifer had stepped up this caustic game for a reason, although he couldn't care less what it was. Hell, maybe he was over-crediting the man and it all boiled down to some inexplicable desire to emulate the mentality of a twelve-year-old.

The agent finally replied, "I didn't ask. I told you to stop."

A quick glance told him that Seifer had begun to pull the top blankets from the bed, tossing them into a heap that also included the wet and bloodied towels. If all went to plan, they'd get out of here shortly. He'd already called in a favor to take care of hotel situation. No, the room wouldn't be physically occupied, but nonetheless Squall booked it for second consecutive evening in order to collect on those favors. The more pressing concern was getting their eclectic trio to the other end of town.

At least getting her out of the hotel should be fairly straight-forward. It turned out to be a blessing that the hotel was actually renowned for its nightlife rather than it's 'day life'. He had every intention of getting her out of here a lot earlier, but that idea was nixed by letting 'Sleeping Beauty' sleep - as per her knight's demand. Thankfully, she woke up at a decent hour on her own and without the aid of being kissed by Seifer because he was her knight or a frog, whichever this ill-conceived-fairytale called for.

Great, more thoughts he'd need to repress for the remainder of his existence.

Rinoa's sullen voice silenced those thoughts. It was obvious she was growing tired of being in the dark. "Fine. It's only my life, why should I know? ….Maybe I would have had a better time communicating with a Chocobo."

She was clueless to the irony which was exactly why Seifer's laughter ended up being nothing less than obnoxious. He watched as Agent Puberty did his best not to outwardly react to the comment. This was too easy. He almost had sympathy for the guy.

"Hold on, almost done," Squall said, ripping the bandage from the roll, before tucking the self-sticking bandage into place. He decided to explain himself – namely because if he didn't, he'd wagered that Seifer would be more than willing to fill in the blanks. "Go to the bathroom and get changed. Place the bathrobe into one of plastic bags used for dirty laundry - we'll take it with us. You're going to basics once we get there and, until we can pull things together, let's hope the robe isn't a total loss. Once you're set to go, the both of us will escort you downstairs. From there, we'll get in Seifer's car and-"

"Correction, she's not a car. She's my Big Baby," Seifer interrupted, purposely using a sing-song voice to irritate the agent.

"Whatever." Squall stood from the bed, intentionally distancing himself. "We'll then head over to a new building… Actually, it's an old building in the art district, I meant new for us. Do you recall anything I said about my old partner?"

"Uh… don't trust him with food?" she hesitantly answered. Pop quizzes were never her thing and clearly, that hadn't changed.

The agent blinked a few times. It wasn't wrong but… it certainly wasn't the answer he'd expected. "I was referring to the fact he worked in cyber crimes and is already aware of the situation. Currently, he's in route from Deling City and is now on assignment. The Unit Director and I spoke last night and, when it comes down to it, Zell has my trust."

Squall had no idea what possessed him to do so but, he decided to follow-up on that statement. So much for that earlier lesson that he didn't learn. "Except, as you pointed out, with my food. I trust the man with my life - and yours by extension - but don't turn your back if you have any sort of meat."

"Oh, no he didn't. Oh, yes he did! Damn. Squall just said that!" Once again, Seifer interjected in the same mocking voice but with an added chortled cat-call. "This man wants his meat."

"I did not say-"

No.

Squall was still not taking the bait but he would take the blame. It was history repeating itself, sadly 'history' in this case was about five minutes old. "Fine. Whatever. His name is Special Agent Zell Dincht and along with Detective Almasy and myself, we'll be alternating watch for your safety. The three of us will work with you throughout the entirety of the case. He's bringing photographs for you look at along with better supplies so I can take care of your arm. It should be done within twenty-four hours. We're obviously pushing it, but it's really the only option we have. I'm sure you have questions, but we're under a time limit. Do you think you can walk to the bathroom or do you need help?"

"No, I'm fine…I think. Just need to let this all sink in."

"You can do that in the car. Right now, you need to get dressed." He realized that came out a bit harsher than he'd meant.

"Ah, there's that personality of a cardboard cut-out that we love so much." This time Seifer had forgone the sing-song voice for one laced with frustration. "Seriously, I ordered one of those life-sized stand-ups of you from the one-hour printing shop around the corner. Thought I'd play a new game, see how long it takes before people realize that you've been replaced by Special Agent Card Bored. …Damn, I'm on a roll today."

That was it. Once Rinoa got out of bed and was in the bathroom, Squall was going to find out what the hell Seifer's problem was. He'd suddenly become a fountain spewing toxic snarkiness. And though it was difficult to admit, the Timber detective bested him in the areas of street-smarts and apparently in understanding women…or at least in Miss Heartilly. And as equally-difficult as it was to also admit, their skill-sets balanced out each other's. Once Zell arrived, the three of them needed to work as a cohesive unit - with boundaries and respect – since it wasn't just about them. The most important person here was Rinoa and they needed to-

Shit.

He stopped suddenly. The most important person here was Rinoa… Rinoa.

That was an accident. Seifer had rattled him, that's all. At least he wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud. Running a hand angrily through his hair, he let out a solitary growl.

Damn it, he should've corrected her. Now who was going to correct him?


	16. Random Acts of...?

The detective had no idea what that look on Squall's face meant. If the man was trying to hide his confusion, he'd failed. To Seifer, it didn't bode well that the agent could make it through an interrogation and most likely a poker game without so much as giving a glimpse of a tell, and yet stick him next to a girl and he instantly becomes a pathetic, flustered mess. The guy apparently really was sexually repressed and, all joking aside, Seifer wasn't about him to explore the joys of puberty anywhere near Rinoa. This made Seifer's job twice as difficult; he'd have to equally focus on protecting Rinoa from whoever killed her friends and the suit who acted more like an emo protagonist from one of those teeny-bopper movies. Seriously, if Squall sparkled in the sunlight, Seifer was going to stake him right then and there.

Putting a pin in that idea, calling it plan B, Seifer was breaking up this little love fest. The kicker was that neither of its participants actually knew they were involved in a love fest, awkwardly-cringe worthy as it was. Damn, he hated being the smartest person in the room, but it was his burden to bear. As with all Almasys, he'd accept his station in life graciously – and he'd personally add, quite handsomely.

Walking between the two beds, he brushed past Squall enough that he visible had to steady himself. Without so much as an apology, he extended his hand where Rinoa sat on the edge of the bed.

"Sorry you had to see that. Now, first things first, I'm helping you stand. I get it was a long night… I'm no stranger to long nights myself or feeling like shit in the morning, admittedly for entirely-different reasons. Moving sounds like a good idea in theory…but not so much in execution. I'm here to be that person to lean on – like my grandmother says after a two-day night on the town, _'sometimes your legs just feel wobblier than a one-legged Chocobo who got his beak into the moonshine.'_ In short, stop being your stubbornly self-sufficient self; you've done it long enough. Right now, I'm your knight and it's my duty to be there for you, m'lady."

She responded with a genuine smile, accepting his hand as he helped her to her feet. Maybe it was the pain or the severe lack of sleep, but she'd admit to feeling surprisingly woozy. It was quite the accomplishment just to become acclimated, every bone and muscle in her body simultaneously cried out in pain.

"Thank you, kind sir."

"Remember, it's my job to catch you if you fall – also keep you away from moonshine _and_ Chocobos. Independently or together."

She giggled even though she was only able to pick up on part of his comment. "Your grandmother sounds like an interesting person."

"Yeah, let me tell you… there are stories, but I'll save those for later. Now let's get the princess to her new castle."

Squall was appalled.

…Plus, the phone on the nightstand was so close. He could've easily picked it up. Then, in an inexplicable, albeit tragic, 'accident,' a force of nature could've caused the phone to fly from his hands at an exorbitant rate of speed…just-so-happening to whack Seifer (repeatedly) in the process. Running that scenario through his head was as close as he'd get to that dream, but it at least offered a small amount of satisfaction. Thoughts like those would have him quickly failing a psych exam, although he wasn't aggressive by nature. He adhered to a strict code and violence was only a last resort. Still, it begged the question, when did Seifer last pass a psych exam? The agent found that Seifer's seemingly-instant hostility towards him was extremely disconcerting. And truthfully, it almost scared Squall how easily this guy could push is buttons. It wasn't normal.

That's why Squall walked away before he did something (else) stupid or, the more realistically, before he became physically ill from this damn love-festival these two had going on. He needed to focus and clean up his work area; he didn't spend years of dedication to have his career blown over these two and their mistakes.

Yes, he should've let it go, but after he got to the table, he felt this need to scoff. This whole 'knight' thing? It was a travesty of the job, but it was likely that Seifer was going to milk it for all it was worth. Probably as long as it took him to get in her pants - that is if Detective Asshole hadn't already last night. Yeah, he could do the nickname thing too, and the thought of _that_ – _of them_ – made him fucking sick; in fact, he had to grit his teeth in order to not go off on the guy. The only logical reason was because the hotel had been on _his_ Gil. Squall rarely turned in expense reports, but he'd be damned if he'd foot the bill for their little tryst. Hell, he wasn't even going pay for their damn chocolate.

No, he wasn't proud of these thoughts, but he was still trying to make sense of everything, including why Cid had been so damn insistent that he had to be _the one_. Squall reasoned that even if Caraway had requested him on the case, his valuable wasn't in playing babysitter. And if there weren't enough questions, Squall had to ask himself what twenty-eight-year-old washout detective actually wants to be a knight in this day and age?

Seifer was deluded and so was Heartilly if she bought into this load of shit.

Mumbling, Squall started shoving his paperwork into his bag as a few choice curse words escaped his lips. It wasn't just Seifer rather than the whole case that made him inexplicably upset; it broke protocol on just about every level. Why Cid also refused to listen to reason was beyond him. Now his future revolved around sitting idly by as the princess and knight played footsy with one another.

Because he was so preoccupied with his anger, it allowed him to be caught off guard for the second time in eight hours as someone was standing next to him. He was better than this; he'd scold himself later for allowing his emotions – or whatever the hell these were – to get in the way.

But for now, he wanted to ask Seifer about all this extra hostility. Arms folded and jaw clenched, he looked at this joke of a local cop, one that nobody found funny. "Can you tell me what your problem is? I thought we'd come to an understanding about what's best for _her_."

He didn't say Rinoa. He'd count that as a win although it was obvious that he'd overemphasized the word 'her.'

"You." Seifer shot him an agitated look, taking a step closer. "You're my problem. You just don't get it. Worse yet, if I wrote it out or even spelled it out in macaroni letters, it wouldn't matter as you _still_ won't get it. So, what's the point?"

"Whatever. I thought we were working together and-"

"We _are_ working together," Seifer interrupted with a hiss, "What we're _not_ doing is hurting people and that's what you're going to do."

"I have no fucking clue what you're going on about," Squall snapped back angrily, while trying to keep his voice down, "I thought we had some sort of understanding last night. You're all over the map today."

"Last night was different," Seifer conceded, his voice falling as he turned away. His choices were limited. Pointing out the truth to Squall would be the equivalent of showing a cloud to a Chocobo and then asking what shape he saw in it. That was, if you could get the stubborn bird to look at the sky in first place.

To put it in perspective, if the detective pointed to Rinoa, telling Squall not to hurt her, he'd respond saying, "he had no such intention" and then he'd add that "his job was to protect her." Squall wouldn't see because his mind _couldn't_ comprehend. Chocobos can't see objects in clouds just like Squall couldn't see what was right in front of him. Unfortunately, Seifer saw everything like the way Squall and Rinoa acted around each other, looked at each, when neither had a clue. But the truth was painfully-clear, no matter how he tried to distract or misdirect them – it wouldn't last long.

Squall rested his laptop bag on the table, studying the man. He didn't seem to be lying underneath the layers of snark - there did appear to be something genuine about him.

"How was last night different?"

"Because you were leaving, all right? It was all supposed to be over and you'd be nothing more than a really nasty memory like eating a month-old spicy bean burrito with spoiled cream cheese."

"You are an asshole," Squall stated firmly, slinging his computer case over his shoulder. Why did he ever hold out any hope for a guy who twisted every sentence into a personal insult? "Detective Almasy, I actually believed that you wanted to save her life, but this is just about putting me down at every opportunity. I tried to leave, believe me, I pleased my case. Unfortunately, the bureau felt my usefulness was better served here. We both know it's not."

The detective tried to admit this wasn't going to work. While this approach was entertaining, it wasn't going to get them anywhere, plus it may end up backfiring on him if Rinoa took pity on the stiff. Seifer glanced towards the bathroom, making sure she was still inside. It was time for a new and rather novel approach for him - the truth.

"Fine you want the truth, how about what you just said? Start thinking about _why_ were you trying so damn hard to get off this case. For a man who prides himself on being some all-knowing omnipotent fed, lording your _fedness_ above all us mere mortals of-" Seifer stopped, catching himself going down that road again. They say that old habits die hard and whoever 'they' were, they certainly weren't kidding.

Seifer apologized with a smirk – or something along those lines. "My bad. That was an unproved jab at you. It seems that I can't just turn of the condescending sarcasm on and off like a light switch, especially when you're practically begging to-" he stopped for a second time, that had least gone a little better. The third time is a charm - or at least that's what 'they' say. Seriously, Seifer just added that to _his list_ \- to find out whoever 'they' were and kick their respective asses.

"Damn, this _is_ hard. Okay, okay… Agent Leonhart, what I'm getting at is that even you probably don't why you were trying so hard to go home. I'm really not being snarky with this comment, but I know if I asked you to answer, you could sit down and create an entire spreadsheet of all the reasons you fought to get off this case. Sure, they all might be part of it, but you're too afraid to list the most important one… which is that you're afraid."

"I've done protective duties before, I'm not afraid."

Seifer laughed. "Oh you are, you just don't know it yet…again, I'm completely serious. The thing is, you damn well should be."

Although the bathroom door had opened, Seifer continued down the chivalrous route once more. It would've been easy to drop this right then and there, but he and Squall had to work at solving their differences. Seifer scoffed at the thought; he couldn't recall putting _this_ much effort into an actual relationship. Damn, these epic bromances didn't come easily. Not to mention, Squall wasn't going to make _that_ good of a wingman anyway. Maybe there'd be some hope for this Zell character.

"Look Leonhart, I can't promise miracles, but I'll _work_ on dropping the attitude if you and I come to mutual agreement. Believe me, you will figure this out, but it'll be too late by then. So, once you get past the fear, the only thing there is left is pain. So the answer is simple – don't ever stop being afraid. Remember that and we're good."

Usually, Squall loved brain teasers and riddles, believing that they were great exercises for keeping his mind sharp, but this was the last thing he wanted today. Honestly, the most likely answer to all this was that there was no answer – Seifer was still just screwing with him. Still, the fact was if he agreed to this nonsense, he would possibly save himself some grief. He needed to come off as sincere or Seifer wouldn't go for it, but he also had to keep the charade credible by putting up a small fight.

"I have no idea what you just said. There are plenty of valid reasons for my return to Deling City, each of which would stand up on its own merits. Personally, I think you just enjoy screwing with my head, but whatever, if it helps us work together better, I'll agree. Honestly, the only thing to fear here is how far into the DEA this goes, but I'm willing to keep an open mind. So, whatever…I agree."

It was the truth; he hadn't been lying, except for the fact that during the course of his statement, he'd convinced himself that Almasy was full of utter BS. He'd ask Seifer more later when they were alone, but they had company right now. He looked over at Rinoa who was standing with her purse in one hand, plastic bag in the other. She had remained standing near the bed, most likely allowing the two guys to finish their private conversation.

He narrowed his eyes; she'd managed to cover up most of her scrapes with some kind of concealing makeup. Her long, dark hair was brushed around her face and, not only did it serve to frame it, it also worked to cover some of the abrasions on her neck. Also, like the robe last night, the dark color contrasted perfectly with the light makeup she'd put on. Rinoa looked… she looked like it was easier for her to walk out without much fuss. If it wasn't for the long gray 'talk to the paw' t-shirt that she still swam in, she'd look like she belonged among the hotel's clientele. Honestly, even dressed like that, he could take her to afternoon tea right now and not draw too much attention. Now _that_ was a scary thought - he certainly wasn't tea drinker, although he could go for a few pots of coffee right now.

"Are we leaving or what?" Seifer snapped angrily as he walked over to Rinoa.

Oh yeah, that conversation had _really_ sunk into Puberty-Fed's thick skull. On the positive, Seifer could rest assured that he'd at least gotten the Chocobo to look at the sky. Yes, it was very obvious that the stupid bird was checking out the sky.

* * *

Seifer hadn't left Rinoa's side; she actually thought it was rather sweet whereas Squall would consider it borderline creepy. Per the norm, his opinions didn't matter as the two walked side-by-side and he followed behind as the third wheel. Lagging behind was for the best, he much preferred the vantage point as he had a broader view of the surroundings.

They'd just left the hotel room, making their way into the main corridor toward the elevator but, as they turned a corner, three individuals appeared from the lift's door. Unlike the couple last night, it was obvious that these three weren't going to be too distracted in each other's company to remain oblivious to the world. Rinoa shuffled her feet, debating whether or not she should stop or run or…or maybe she'd somehow pull off that whole chameleon thing, self-camouflaging to blend into her surroundings. Since that seemed… _unlikely_ , she hoped that either Seifer or Squall had a better plan. It also helped the elevator trio hadn't noticed them yet; it seemed that they knew each other and were exchanging a few final words.

"You're telegraphing – don't," Squall said, being only loud enough for her to hear. "Two maids the other direction, keep going."

Seifer had managed a quick read on the group before glancing to Rinoa. She had no idea what the agent meant about telegraphing, but the detective understood. Her indecision was showing as her movements showed she was unsure, telegraphing some degree of guilt. The detective's gut, which was usually spot-on about these things, said that these people weren't an immediate threat, but even seeing Rinoa's face could eventually make this all unravel. Being boxed in from the rear because of the maids, their best option was still making it to the elevator.

There was one quick option however. It wasn't a good one. It wasn't even a mediocre one. Seifer was going _sooo_ going to blame his former girlfriend for this idea. She'd forced him to watch one too many chick-flicks and, like his bad burrito example from earlier, their hackneyed and worn-out plots tended to be something that stayed with you far longer than one could humanly hope. Seriously, besides his girlfriend, who keeps buying tickets for those recycled plots about bosses falling in love with secretaries, reluctant knights falling for the princess in a pre-arranged relationships, the prostitute falling for the person who hired them, the people that discover 'true love' during something as ridiculous like zombie apocalypse, or – the worst offender by far – that law enforcement agent that falls for someone he's changed with protecting.

Oh…yeah, scratch the last one. Rinoa and the suit – that's who is stupid enough to fall for recycled plots. If those two really wanted to become some clichéd trope, it would be over his dead body and, for that to happen, they'd have to merge scenarios with that zombie movie. On top of that, he'd be damned if he was resigned to play the court jester/sidekick. Seifer Almasy was starring material all the way – and he was going to prove his acting prowess now. If this was going to become some movie screenplay, him and Leggy-Fed were the stars and Agent Puberty would do well to remember that.

"Leonhart, it's either you or me…newsflash, it's not you. Go on," Seifer said quickly as he firmly reached for Rinoa's hand.

His words were lost not only on Squall, but Rinoa as well - until his next action, that was. The detective needed to be forceful because of the situation but remained mindful of her wounds. With the hand he held, he guided her to the nearest doorframe before lifting her arm above her head. Gently, he placed his body close to her.

"Sorry 'bout this. Grab the handle, maybe wrap a leg. Realism." He acted as her director, trying to counter her shock. She yelped in surprise as his free hand landed on her lower back as her body was crushed between Seifer's body and the doorway.

He could see they were getting closer, so he'd leaned down as if he was whispering something in her ear. "I won't make you do anything but, can I kiss you?"

She started to open her mouth but, similar to snapping out of her morning haze, formulating actual words went beyond the current skill level she possessed. Instead, she nodded her permission. Before she had time for any mental preparation that she really, really, _really_ needed, Seifer's lips had crushed against hers.

Rinoa wasn't a stranger to the occasion romantic movie and she'd seen similar scenarios played out like this. In the films, it always seemed to work out for story-related purposes. Of course, this was usually a plot device, used as the precursor to some epic romance… which by the way, totally wasn't happening what-so-ever. The fact she was thinking about plot devices while being kissed, instead you know – thinking about how she was being kissed, showed exactly how _not_ into this she was.

Squall on the other hand, had a quite the different experience over the last few seconds.

"What the fuck?" While the agent didn't find cussing for no apparent reason something he did often – in his book, it had been very, _very_ warranted in this situation. In fact, he realized that he was _literally_ standing in a hotel gawking as two people made out. Gathering his wits – and wishing for some more brain bleach - he continued walking ahead. He was 'going on' as Seifer instructed before he accosted Rinoa in the hallway… Damn it, _Miss Heartilly,_ in the hallway. Right now he just wanted to get to the elevator without making everyone on the floor aware they were here.

…But two women were aware as they headed towards him. To add insult to injury, they weren't just walking, they were walking while boring their eyes-of-judgment directly through him. To edge up his creep factor, Squall accidentally made eye contact with one of the women. After cursing his existence, he moved past them with his head facing forward as he continued to play look out, while Rinoa and Seifer were playing something else entirely that he'd prefer not label.

" _Pervert."_

" _Too bad, what a waste."_

After he'd passed by, Squall heard the exchange between the women, obviously referring to him. Seriously, what type of depraved-ass slowed down to watch some 'random' make out session? Hell, at this point, he wouldn't even bother denying the fact that he was watching because, well… to repeat his earlier statement, what the fuck just happened?

Squall made it to the elevator just in time to catch the end of the show. He still had to be on the look out for anything else and, as the women passed the couple at the door, one turned back and looked at him in disgust. Yep. _Perfect_. Of course. There he was, standing with his back against the wall… again caught watching the hallway's main attraction. Whatever. Squall didn't care about the opinion of some random stranger; he only cared about having a job that was becoming increasingly-difficult to handle, unlike Heartilly and Almasy…they seemed to be handling each other quite easily.

He blinked…then blinked again. While he didn't have much of an imagination, but he'd like to think he would've come up with a plan that had more…class. It was like out of every bad movie his sister and father had forced him watch. It was all so unnecessary. It was almost as if Seifer was _trying_ to shove their relationship in face.

Unbeknownst to Squall, he'd been right.

Yes, he was trying to shove it in Squall's face, but taking it to _this_ extreme hadn't been his intention – just a case of perfectly-executed happenstance. Hopefully, this would make it click in the Fed's pea-sized head and he'd simply back off. If not, maybe he'd mentally place her as off limits. It was a win-win, plus the (assumed) utterly-appalled look and the (very real) random chastising by strangers – _pure bonus._ Christmas had come early this year.

"They're almost here. Fake it," Seifer managed in between kisses at the moment that Squall had made it down to the elevator.

To Rinoa, this discomfort brought back memories. This was wrong; everything about it felt wrong. She couldn't help but to equate it to the mistake she'd made with Zone; it probably hadn't helped matters any that she'd kept saying how much the detective reminded her of him either.

Rinoa had to force herself to think of anything besides how unpleasant this experience was – chiefly because as his hand traveled lower, her first instinct had been to gag. She noticed that he seemed to be a hell of a lot more comfortable with this than she was. It made sense; he'd probably done undercover work. Her thoughts drifted that direction…and to Squall. She recalled talking to him about something similar last night in the car. He'd admitted that it could be awkward, but stressed professionalism. Strangely that made her feel a lot better, knowing she had something in common with him now. She wanted to show him that she could do this too, so she fought against what felt right, even going that awkward-extra step, hooking her leg around Seifer.

"They're gone."

She pulled away immediately, realizing that her strained-efforts had come a little too lat. Before she could leave, Seifer grabbed her wrist. "…You've been crying. I'm sorry."

Wiping the tears she didn't know had been building, she looked at him as they began walking. "It's just…memories, but I wanted to do it. I mean, I didn't _want_ to do _that,_ I mean-"

"Stop. I know what you mean, you did great - you're like a pro."

She slapped him on the arm and chucked. "You'd better mean 'pro' as in undercover work."

"As opposed to someone who spends their life under covers?" Now it was his turn to laugh. "Don't worry, I meant that you did what had to be done, even if it was only acting. Trust me, I've done that and worse and I'm sure the suit has too… So, let's get you out of here. Plus, I'm sure Fed-Boy enjoyed the show."

She folded her arms, rubbing her shoulders as she looked directly at Squall. That whole conversation yesterday felt so real now. "I know it's important work and you have to do…things, but I'd still have a hard time. When I asked Agent Leonhart about something sorta along these lines, he basically came out and said that you'd have to be a very insecure person or an idiot to be jealous. Okay…paraphrasing a smidge, but still no matter how much I understood, I don't think I could handle it."

"Everyone's different. There isn't any right way to feel."

They'd met up with Agent Leonhart and, judging by the look his eyes, Seifer wondered if he should ask how 'insecure' he was feeling right about now. Yet inexplicably Seifer didn't feel like rubbing it in anymore. Outwardly, his only response came in the form of a knowing smirk. Inwardly, he was manically laughing at the guy's expense, however.

Apparently, that ivy-league degree of his could buy him anything… but a damned clue.

"Let's go." Squall ordered, avoiding eye contact with either of them as he got in the elevator.

As the doors closed, Seifer leaned towards Squall, doing a fake 'cough' into his hand. _"Insecure."_

Okay, so maybe he wasn't above rubbing it in.


	17. Then there were four…

Thirty minutes later, the trio found themselves walking towards another elevator – one that was worlds away from the grandeur of the Regent Hotel. Actually, everything about their surroundings screamed that it was worlds away from last night, which wasn't exactly a bad thing.

Going into the apartment's lobby, Rinoa noticed the lift appeared to be some odd mechanical hybrid fused from the centuries. Three walls were formed with metal grating and diagonal beams, definitely giving the traditional warehouse-ish vibe, while the door was several decades newer…something that she hoped that also held true for the elevator's cables. Thankfully, it wasn't like in the movies, where the doors opened directly into the living space. Besides being the _opposite_ of secure and looking cool on-screen, the idea of people having walk-in access to her life personally freaked her out.

Then again, her current situation listed high on the 'freak-out' meter. Standing, _waiting_ , all she could do was fidget with her t-shirt's hem, trying to think about anything besides this shambled mess of a so-called life. Well, _almost_ anything; she'd love to erase her foray into 'undercover' work with Seifer before it left a permanent scar on her psyche.

On a serious note, she'd been all right until now as driving through Timber always had a calming effect. Similar to last night, her mind was on the streets, imagining a back story for whatever she happened to see. In her youth, Rinoa's father kept a tight rein on her. She often found herself alone, creating complex histories to pass the time - it was second-nature to invent a story for a man buying coffee, come up with the origin of a street name, or construct a building's colorful past…such as the one they were in.

There was so much history contained within these walls; so much beauty, even in a building whose original lot in life was manufacturing. Without research, she figured it dated back at least a century, to when Timber first shifted into its industrial period. The fact that it remained standing was a monument to the city's tenacity. After it had been abandoned, it could've been demolished, but it was renovated, finding a second life and preserving Timber's history.

Rinoa believed _that_ was the real progress, taking a step back in order to move forward. Using that perspective, the art district was Timber's most progressive - a unique marriage between new and old that made Adel Garden an eclectic blend of life.

Then again, even the best marriages often had conflict. After becoming incorporated seventeen years ago, the residents found themselves in a friendly disagreement, dividing into two factions.

…Of all things, it was over _a nickname._

The greater part of Timber simply referred to Adel Garden as the 'art district,' but its residents weren't as amenable. One faction preferred _Adel_ \- a legendary folk singer who sang tales of the Chocobos and Moogles that lived in the forest. Before her death, she supposedly vowed to watch over Timber's musicians from somewhere in the sky. Not surprisingly, the Adel group tended to be musically-inclined. However, the artisans preferred the imagery _Garden_ conjured. Some reasoned Adel focused too much on the past whereas _Garden_ symbolized the future. Neither group was right or wrong, just two different standpoints on history.

Personally, Rinoa always edged towards calling it _Garden_ , even though her mother was a musician. She wagered that it was because flowers had a very special meaning to her.

Either way, it was Adel Garden's quirks, along with its diversity, that made this Rinoa's favorite district in Timber's entire region. To her, it exuded perfection; it wasn't the richest, it wasn't the poorest, but it was easily the most accepting. Unlike Dogwood Heights, most living here didn't care where you'd come from, who you wanted to be, or even who you loved. Residents were passionate in everything they did, whether it was sculpting, painting, theater, playing guitar on a street corner…or even campaigning for their nickname of choice; the last of which was something they'd turned into a yearly fundraiser. They showed unity within diversity, giving back to their community.

Rinoa felt comfortable, spending her weekends here in the summer listening to musicians in the park and visiting art fairs. Once, she'd mistakenly dragged Zone to a free-form poetry reading...a flawed idea from the get-go. After moving beyond hysterical laughter, he'd ventured into inappropriate mocking. Worse yet, his comments _shouldn't_ have been funny, but his deadpan-delivery had her laughing so damn hard that it caused people to stare. After that, she restricted his snarking to low-budget movies or the occasional chick-flick.

However, being a glutton for punishment, she eventually tried again, this time dragging both Zone and Watts to view a rare meteor shower. For several hours, they turned their lights off as businesses and homes displayed a deep sense of community. Carrying those memories of her friends made Adel Garden even more special.

Stepping onto the elevator, Rinoa thought about this area from a security perspective. In that respect, Garden was the single best option as people tended not to ask questions. This was good… _considering_. Although driving over, Seifer off-handedly mentioned the apartment was a one-bedroom. Since Zell, Seifer, and Squall were going to be rotating duty, they'd be the only ones seen coming in or out…they'd better be damned appreciative that people minded their own business. Biting her lip, she had to surpass an unexpected laugh and as the doors closed, she realized how much a random, albeit inappropriate, thought could make her smile.

Side-eyeing her, the detective asked suspiciously, "What's running through that mind of yours?"

Seifer had been looking forward, shooting daggers into the back of Squall's head, although he'd admit that Fed-Boy's hair cut actually looked good…on a Lhasa Apso dog. It did make him rethink the question he asked Rinoa. "Then again, maybe for my sanity… Screw that, for the sanity of the planet as a whole, maybe we're all better off not knowing what's on your mind."

Rinoa hadn't really heard his second comment, hanging herself up on his question. Denial would've been the worst; Seifer was already on to her. She did her best, trying to diffuse the situation with laugh. "Oh, you know, everything, anything…nothing. Just typical me stuff."

She shrugged, knowing that attempt was extremely pathetic - even by her standards – and since she'd set the bar insanely low since meeting these two, that was saying something. So, she caved, answering with something that bordered on the truth, "My mind was randomly jumping around ...freight elevators, nicknames, poetry readings, meteor showers…and, um, apartments and such."

"All right." There was definitely a ring of truth this time, even if she was holding something back. Still, Rinoa deserved her own space because, as not-so-brilliantly demonstrated by Fed-Boy, this wasn't about interrogating the witness.

"So, um…Agent Leonhart, you didn't say if your friend was here yet," she asked, glancing down to the plastic bag in her hand. Squall seemed preoccupied and if humanly possible, he'd been even more distant than normal. Instead of his typical three or four words, he'd streamlined a bit, grunting only one or two word sentences on the drive over.

"No. I didn't," he stated firmly.

"Oh."

Clasping her hands behind her back, she shuffled her foot back and forth. She didn't particularly like elevators nor did she particularly like Squall being so short with her. Pausing, her mind made the connection - _Squall_ and _short_. There was a joke in there, but even that didn't make her smile.

The worst part? Something inside made her feel as if she was the one who needed to apologize. Why? She couldn't say, yet there was always this incessant need to appease everyone. Most likely, this went back to living with her father, where maybe a premature 'sorry' could curb his ire. Now, apologizing had become an ingrained habit. Most of the time, Rinoa didn't even know _why_ or _when_ she'd said it.

That's why the next word rolled off her tongue with such ease. "Sorry."

There was a pregnant pause before anybody spoke. "…Within the hour."

Now Seifer was side-eyeing him. Squall's response had been so seemingly out-of-place that it could only be deciphered as a feeble version of an apology. Folding his arms, Seifer used his earlier sing-song voice to mock the situation, " _Awk_ -ward."

Thankfully, the elevator reached its eighth floor destination before Seifer continued his insightful brand of commentary; he considered his narrative much like a bonus, not to mention awesome, DVD feature. As the doors opened, Squall cautiously took the lead. Rinoa started to follow, but was halted by Seifer's arm.

Moving forward to hold the door open, Seifer glanced back to her, nodding in Squall's general direction. "Such a peach, isn't he?"

"He's not that bad." She felt the need to defend him. To be fair, she'd also felt the need to defend Seifer yesterday.

In truth, Agent Leonhart hadn't done anything wrong. Yes, he was serious to a fault, but she appreciated that focus, even if the detective interpreted this as a form of callousness. Even still, Seifer seemed to have some major grudge against Squall, although that appeared to be mutual. Plus, from what she'd pieced together from yesterday's fight, she doubted it could all be chalked up to 'good acting.'

Oh well, their issues were _their issues_ and she had absolutely zero to do with it. She was grateful for that, because she already had enough on her plate, like the fact she had no idea where Squall had disappeared to. She'd lost him the moment he'd stepped off the elevator and turned left. The only thing visible was part of a wall and the wrought iron table against it. Actually, it was a nice decoration, but not as nice as seeing Squall.

…Well, that thought sounded completely wrong – she meant that it mentally felt better knowing where he was at. Seifer must've received some sort of signal as he motioned her forward. Before she'd taken her first step out of the elevator, Squall was by her side, ushering her forward. She silently followed, until she made a rather noticeable observation. To paraphrase Zone, only one of trio had been carrying a clue-stick.

Suddenly, Agent Leonhart stopped at a random, albeit immensely cool-looking, potted spiral-cut tree and started to dig. Either Agent Dincht clued him in, or Squall had momentarily transposed his current location, thinking he was at the beach, digging in the sand. Of course, Seifer had a different thought…a much less-flattering one. He believed Squall's _uber_ -secret desire to be a cat finally broke through the surface and the inevitable just happened. Fed-Boy snapped, mistakenly believing that he'd stumbled onto a rival cat's litter box.

She watched as Squall finally produced something from the dirt. From a brief glance, it looked like a key. He then stood up, brushing his hands together trying to get rid of the excess dirt. With this group, Rinoa wasn't used to the prolonged silence, but it was about not attracting attention. Until now, there'd been no shortage of Seifer's opinions; he probably had quite a few that were trying to claw their way out now, especially after Squall's brief foray into the world of dirt. Squall would emphatically deny it, but Rinoa wholeheartedly believed there was a bit of smug-satisfaction knowing Seifer was being tortured by silence – having to swallow his Squall-directed-barbs was likely eating away at him. She had to deflect a smile, although thankful for these random thoughts - like the fact she thought Seifer may spontaneously combust with all that snark burning inside. Frankly, Rinoa would've appreciated a _Seifer-ism_ about now as long bouts of silence tended to amplify her nerves.

As they started moving again, she believed there was something almost militaristic about the way they walked. She was _literally_ marching between both men in a single-file line. Seriously, who did this? It certainly wasn't natural, seeming far more suspicious than say having a casual conversation like, you know, normal human beings. By the time they'd reached the end of the hall, her emotions somehow drifted into to misplaced excitement.

It made no sense… _considering_.

Rinoa figured that the most logical explanation for this – and even this was maybe a stretch - was that the anticipation of seeing the apartment paralleled staying at hotel. As a child, exploring hotel rooms were some of her best memories - in fairness, she hadn't exactly outgrown it. It was even there last night, although the experience was significantly dulled by exhaustion. It was one of those embarrassing secrets that she'd guarded closely; there wasn't a way to say it that didn't come across as silly. After her mother passed away, she traveled with her father. She and her caregiver Elise always had their own room. Because they traveled so much, Rinoa made a game of it, pretending that whatever was on the other side was her new home. She'd pretend like she was going to live there the rest of her life and then make all these mental changes.

Squall stopped at apartment #809 and she wished she could beg him to be the first to see it, just like she'd beg Elise. Again it was silly, but these were the childhood memories that belonged to her on an extremely-personal level. But this time, everything was different…nothing was pretend. She had no place to go back to. For days, weeks, or however long it would be, she had nothing to return to…this would truly be her home.

Leaving nothing to debate, Squall retook point. Rinoa knew that entering first was strictly protocol-based, but her imagination unexpectedly kicked-in, running away with common sense. She decided that Squall was hiding his ulterior motives – pulling rank because he wanted to be the first to see the apartment. Rinoa was aware she couldn't be further off base as Squall's personality certainly didn't scream that he was 'a kid at heart,' unlike the detective. Now that was easily believable. Yet, maybe if she allowed herself to believe this about Agent Leonhart, he wouldn't think that she was completely silly fool.

An unexpected touch to the shoulder brought her back into the moment. Turning towards the source, she was greeted with Seifer's patented smirk plus, upping his (non-existent) game, he threw in wink for good measure. Even in the midst of another bout of epic-fail, Rinoa was glad his attempts of suaveness always managed to entertain and, in all fairness, her response was equally as fail-y. Narrowing her eyes, she attempted 'annoyed' but she was simply going through the motions. Thankfully, both were saved when the all-clear was given.

When she'd stared into Seifer's eyes, something clicked, best described as a moment of non-existent sibling rivalry, and she became possessed by the ghost of her younger self. Maybe she couldn't be the first in the room, but she wasn't going to be the last. She moved briskly past him, leaving him clueless that he'd just lost a race he'd never know about.

She probably had a triumphant look on her face as she crossed the threshold into victory, but instead of exploring like she'd planned, her eyes landed on Squall's expressionless stare. If he'd been watching, she probably looked a giant idiot, going from being lost in thought to rushing over the threshold for no apparent reason. She suddenly felt like a fool, nervously gnawing on her lower lip and her fingers tightened around the bag she carried.

Their impromptu staring contest came to a rather interesting conclusion. Rinoa realized she'd tried to please everyone her entire life and Squall's opinion of her was probably rather strong. Honestly, he'd judged her from his first words – even before she'd given him any reason to.

She refused to be ashamed. In world of blood and death, there was no crime in recapturing a memory of her past.

From the hallway to here, Squall watched her mood change in a snap. But it was the smile and laughter that caught him unprepared. People were…strange. In fact, in his confusion his thought slipped out.

"What?"

Now he was confused again - _what_ possessed him to ask? That was actually the biggest 'what' of this entire scenario. If he'd been smart, he would forfeited the earlier staring contest, shifting his attention to anything else. Then the scene would've played out on its own without the possibility of starting a needless conversation. This was Rinoa Heartilly he was dealing with - if he'd just shut the hell up, she would've shaken her head, and then turn her interest toward the throw pillows or something. But no.

"Nothing," she answered.

" _Who?"_ Seifer asked sarcastically. Walking over, he inserted himself in the middle of the non-existent conversation. Laughing to himself, he continued, "Me? Perfect. Really? Absolutely. See kids, I can join in your one-word sentence game too. Seriously though, I'll be in the kitchen checking out the food situation. Besides, if I stand too close to a suit, I can literally feel my life-force being drained. Leonhart, you're really some human-shaped fun-sucking leech, aren't you? It's seriously kinda freaky."

Similar to back in the hallway, Seifer placed a hand on her shoulder as he reached for the bag she'd been carrying. To her surprise, he offered a sincere smile. Of course, Seifer could've left this on a positive note, but well…Squall really annoyed the shit out of him when it came to how he'd treated Rinoa. On his way to the kitchen, he turned around, walking backwards as he spoke.

"Here's _Seifer's Pro-Tip of the Day:_ Rinoa if you're seriously in need to speak to someone with conversational skills, may I suggest that awesome-looking tree that Fed-Boy violated a few minutes ago? Also, Spiral-Tree has it all over suit in both looks and personality department."

"Be nice!" She felt bad laughing, especially because it was technically at Squall's expense, but he couldn't stop herself.

"I'm shaking…really." This time his words were accompanied by a full-fledged smirk as he goaded her on.

In fact, he used his hand to signal her over, daring her into some sort of retaliation – well either her or Squall. When that plan didn't work, the detective upped the ante. Some may say it was the equivalent of cheating, knowing her weakness and preying on it, but all's fair in love and war... Or to be accurate in this particular situation, 'Squall's fair in love and war.' Yes, bad pun was bad, but she'd told him Zone and Watts would spend entire evenings making everything into a pun just to get to her. It was just too good to pass up.

"Did I tell you that Cool-Tree became my confidential drug informant? Turns out he has a lot of dirt on local pot dealers. Before that, he'd been spiraling out of control. His girlfriend split, saying she didn't want to be with a lumbering fool who didn't know jack. Spent time pining for her, milling around local bars until he cracked and threatened to cut his life short. Guess, his bark was worse than his bite. He's shaped up – real clean-cut now. He'll make a great CI. Still a little green around the edges, said he had knots in his stomach, so I trimmed his work load by logging his reports, hopefully it won't pile up. But once he has roots in the community, I think he'll branch out. If I was him, I _wood_. Guy grows on you, even though he's a native to Timber I don't want him to leaf."

She growled in irritation. "That's it…seriously, how long have you been thinking that up? I hope you know you're playing dirty." She heard him chuckling, muttering 'dirt.' That was it.

Taking a few steps forward, she stood beside Squall. Her next move was deliberate, although her brain had opted for a coffee break during Seifer's story. Honestly, it had to be MIA as no thinking person would've grabbed his arm under these or any circumstances. The only reason she'd done it was as precaution; she didn't want to somersault over the back in her rather hasty state. Crazy situations like these always got worse right before they all worked out perfectly, right? Hopefully.

So, in an ungraceful move that was reminiscent of her "attempt" at backseat seat-vaulting, she bent over the back of the couch. Thankfully, her _not-so-thought-out_ thought out plan worked - she was held from flipping over. From there it became easy; she reached for the closest throw pillow, stood up and then helped it live up to its name by _throwing_ it across the room. It might've made some sort of statement – that is if she hadn't missed him by a good five feet and stood about two feet off the ground. The detective's laugh filled the air as he continued to gesture with his hand. She knew that he was invited her to come over or try again. Since she hadn't really moved, it was much easier to grab her ammo the second time, although it did require her to grab Squall's arm again. In theory, he hadn't outwardly protested the first time so…yeah. Fine, her theory was the opposite of logical, but logic didn't apply in war.

…Well, her version of war.

Rinoa was laughing. She didn't even know when it started, but after brushing the hair from her face, she nearly felt lightheaded as she placed most of her weight against the back of the couch. In desperation, she clung to the pillows in her arms as she gasped to even her breathing. This hadn't been from some small chuckle or an isolated moment of laughter - she'd had a few of those since meeting the guys. The tears falling from weren't from sadness, but the product of the most pathetically-lopsided, badly-aimed pillow fight in the history of the universe. She was determined to finish what she'd stared, placing one of the pillows in her right hand.

This time, she even offered colorful commentary with the impending attack. "Seifer Almasy, no more bad puns, being mean to Squall, or talking about yourself in third person! Honestly, that's the worst."

"You're in a feisty mood," he laughed, dodging the pillow sailed towards him. He moved, so he couldn't say how far off her aim really was, but she had corrected the height. He was secretly impressed that she'd picked up on the learning curve. Although, not impressed enough to play well with others.

The detective continued being amused. "Seifer would throw like a girl, but that's an insult to girls everywhere. You throw like Squall."

He then lifted up folders that had been sitting on the kitchen counter. Because it was higher, Rinoa hadn't noticed what he was looking at until now.

"Look familiar?" Seifer asked with a cockiness to his voice. "How bout I make it easy? As everyone may recall, this is my rather impressive, highly sought-after file. I'll sit here admiring it and let you take your best shot. You only have one pillow left, better master that learning curve real quick. Oh yeah, one rule - you gotta do it from there or it doesn't count. And since I'm feeling generous, a known side-effect of being around my large file, we'll do a small wager if you're game. Since I'm not sure what either of us are going want, we'll just leave it as a general favor across the board. Of course, being nice to Fed-Boy is off the table. Up for it?"

"Absolutely, except I want to add, since you being nice to Squall is off the table, then it works in reverse – if I win, don't expect me to be mean to him."

"Well played. There went most of my ideas…but we still have this Zell guy coming, maybe Meat-Suit will be worth a few laughs. Deal."

"He's so infuriating." she softly whispered to herself as Seifer continued laughing in an attempt to rattle her. Every so often he used that sing-song voice of his to hurl out a comment. Blocking it out, she tried to recall watching her dad shoot, although she wasn't around when he was shooting shotguns or rifles, but she did get to watch him do target practice with a bow and arrow. Maybe some of those skills could be used on a pillow. "Okay, I can do this."

She thought about gym class in school and how they were taught to throw a softball – step into it and follow through. She went though the steps in her mind and, with a deep breath, she lifted her pillow into place. Her hand went back and right when she was about to step forward with as much force as she could muster, she had no idea what happened.

The pillow was quickly yanked from her hand and before her mind could comprehend what the hell happened. She actually heard the sound of the pillow _whooshing_ by her ear before she momentarily saw the blur of dark blue sail across the room. The next part occurred so fast it took several seconds before her mind registered the result. It was like bowling – air bowling for Detective Almasy – and this was nothing short of strike. The pillow had been perfectly aimed, on course to hit Seifer squarely in the chest, but before it was able to reach its second destination, physics stated that it had to pass through the first. The file flew up in the air as pages rained down. Seifer had almost fallen off the stool he was resting on.

"That was liberating," Squall deadpanned as Seifer managed a string of curse words. "By the way, Miss Heartilly still wins. The only stipulation was that she couldn't move."

Rinoa had no idea how Seifer would respond, honestly, she was still trying to figure out what happened since they walked in, nothing had gone as planned. She hadn't even gotten to take her tour, although there was a bit of satisfaction in how it all played out, not that she'd ever admit that.

"Well played, Leonhart, well played." Seifer gave the man his due. Moving to the ground to retrieve his papers, it dawned on him that that it was only a lucky hit, it's not like he saved the world. He shot back so only his eyes peered from behind the counter. "I'd tip my hat to you, but you still throw like a girl – a girl you probably pissed off with your Behemoth-killing attitude. But congrats."

Fine…even that wasn't his best comeback. He blamed it on the fact that it physically hurt to admit that Leonhart had _somewhat_ bested him Seriously…physical pain. In fact, Seifer believed that even a nanosecond of niceness to Fed-Boy had the ability to create a full-blown ulcer.

Then again, Seifer wasn't the only suffering from momentary lapses of 'niceness' around here. No matter how much Agent Dingle-Butt…seriously? His thoughts became hung-up at this startling revelation - his nicknames weren't even up to par. The ulcer must have moved its way to his brain. He didn't care what doctors would argue, because it just happened – in less than a span of thirty seconds.

Taking a deep breath, Seifer cleared his 'brain ulcer,' returning to his previous thought – he wasn't the only one playing nice. Fed-Boy played it off as revenge for constantly being reminded about his informational inadequacy, although the real reason for tossing his pillow might've had something to do with another inadequacy - just not of the folder kind.

… _Tossing his pillow_. Okay, Seifer had to suppress a snicker right then - there had to be a euphemism in there somewhere.

Actually, thinking back, that wasn't a pillow-toss. It was a pillow-attemptingto-hurl-an-object-the-equal-speed -to-a-meteor-entering-the-planet's-atmoshere. Seriously, there had been some seriously-repressed issues behind that 'throw.' Unlike Squall, Seifer was able to step back and see the larger picture – suddenly a random act of kindness wasn't so random. Seifer believed that Squall swooped in and played the hero so she'd win the bet. Fed-Boy already witnessed their little 'show' in the hallway firsthand. What little imagination the guy had was probably trying to fill in the blanks deciding what Seifer would ask as payment for victory and it was the guy's nature to assume the worst.

It was also telling that Seifer's thoughts often had the words "repressed and Squall" in the same sentence, although it was no coincidence. From their first non-handshake at the crime scene, Seifer pegged this one. From his experience, it played out two ways - some positive, some well, _much less_ positive. In either scenario, one constant remained - it may not be today, tomorrow, or even a year from Thursday, but it always happened. Leonhart had repressed _a lot_ of things, most likely beyond the scope of work. If something didn't happen soon then the repression would build until Mt. Saint Squall finally blew – and mark Seifer's words, if the agent stayed on this path, he would blow.

…And now he wished he could erase that thought forever. Much like so many other thoughts that could never be un-thought, the words 'Squall' and 'blow' shouldn't have been anywhere in the sentence, hell, the same paragraph.

.

Rinoa had been quiet.

Her earlier laughter subsided until she'd withdrawn into herself. Her mood swings and silence had been the norm her mind trying to find a way to process everything. She wasn't allowed to morn, or even begin the process, which probably had a lot to do with it – it also had a lot to do with why she was drawn to the men and even they way they interacted. It wasn't just how they treated her, but how they acted as if they were bitter rivals. Well, maybe 'acting' wasn't the right word and the best way to put it was to paraphrase Seifer – it was a rocky beginning to a interesting bromance.

Rinoa was quiet because being around them made her happy…and happy was bad.

She'd latched onto the familiarity, clinging onto comparisons that should've never been drawn. More than once, Rinoa had to remind herself that they weren't her friends, no matter how much wanted them to fill that role. She convinced herself that they _wanted_ to be there and spend time around her like they were friends. But they weren't – she was an assignment. At least if she'd hired them maybe she could set the terms, but she had no control.

It all came down to one thing, trust needed to be earned and she deserved at least one thing – answers. Okay, she deserved two things - answers…and then something for her younger self. The one that, no matter the age, three or twenty-three, had always been brushed to the side by someone else in power.

Standing up straight, she looked over to Squall. He must have sensed it because shortly after, he turned, eying her apprehensively.

"What?" As soon as the one-word question left his mouth, the irony slammed into him with the force of a tempest. The guy who was still berating himself for letting the word slip the first time, yeah _that guy_ , did it again.

"Well. Agent Leonhart, you're consistent if nothing else." She smiled. The moment she did, she swore that she'd seen him physically become uncomfortable, but she refused to let that deter her. "I never even answered your question the first time… That was my fault, I'm sorry and I'm really sorry about him. He means well…I think."

Even as she was saying that, she had no intention of answering him. Moreover, she'd strategically deflected by apologizing for Seifer's behavior. Maybe she'd later toss an errant thank you in her knight's direction; this wasn't the first time that his antics backfired into her favor. Rinoa started to think Seifer's moves were sometimes calculated. True, maybe his only reason was to bait Squall, but that felt obvious… If Seifer Almasy was one thing, he was sneaky and conniving. Fine, technically that was two things, but she wasn't being literal.

Whatever, Squall thought crossly, dismissing her with a wave. He'd already told himself that he didn't actually care about any of her answers. His bigger issue was with himself; what was this incessant need to ask in the first place – not once, but _twice_? Honestly, when he was forced to return to protective duty and, yes, he was _forced_ , he was determined to remain focused. A few hours in, and he'd proven himself the fool once more, falling for it; she smiled, looked at him, batted those brown eyes, and there it was – asking two questions he really didn't mean or even care about the answer to and, worse yet, she'd deflected them both times. Maybe she thought he was both a fool and an idiot and that he simply wouldn't notice.

Right now, he couldn't be distracted. His focus was on making an escape before she inadvertently changed her mind and this turned this into another game. If that was her plan – then game over.

He'd finally tell her just that but, after the prolonged silence, they both spoke in unison.

"Look I-"

"Can you give-"

She laughed, looking at the floor as she pulled on her ponytail to tighten it up where it was starting to loosen. "I'm sorry Agent Leonhart…please, you can go first."

"No, go on."

Maybe Rinoa had been a tad bit of sneaky and conniving in her own way too, because if she'd let him go first, he'd be laying the groundwork for his getaway. This was probably her one shot to corner and/or guilt him into a favor.

"Thanks." She continued to smile, hoping that would curry some favor. "I sort of won the bet with Seifer…so I thought that maybe you'd like to help me celebrate by giving me a tour of the apartment. Thought maybe you'd like to show me around…you know, get acquainted with my new place. Since you went in to clear all the rooms, it sorta makes you an expert, right?"

"Wasn't Seifer the one who lost? Shouldn't the punishment be his?"

"… You're right," she choked out, realizing how badly she'd misjudged the situation. She should've been thankful that Squall had been direct. She'd always wanted to find people who didn't play games, obviously something that not even Zone or Watts could do, but Agent Leonhart could. She could continue being the eternal optimist and convince herself that he didn't mean what he said that way, but there were only so many lies she could tell herself today.

"…I don't...don't what I was thinking. You're right. Seifer won. It's one bedroom…even I'm probably smart enough to figure that out."

Getting mad at herself, she tried to refocus her thoughts. Not thinking about him gave her more time to explore the loft and see more than the sofa and kitchen area. Taking a step back, she was amazed at how easily she'd allowed herself to wear blinders and become a victim of tunnel vision.

None of this was like her, but maybe in the last two days she'd lost sight of who she was. That was problem she needed to mend on her own _without_ becoming dependent on Squall or Seifer. She needed to find who she was and that person in the hall who felt the excitement that had been a moment of her. So she was going to recapture the fun of exploring, discovering all the nooks and crannies of this converted warehouse.

At that moment, Squall must've had his phone on vibrate, because he withdrew, stepping away from her as he reached for the phone in his jacket pocket. He'd given Zell the information of the burnable cell, but still wanted to keep it limited. He'd turn it off once he and the agent touched base. It only took a few seconds before he stepped back to the group. Rinoa had gravitated towards Seifer, who had now made himself at home on counter stool.

"Agent Dincht has arrived. He's going to have his hands full."

There was a long pause as Seifer assumed the agent was going to continue.

"…Ummm, go help him?" Seifer replied, again shocked by Squall's lack of empathy. Leaning against the center island, he did his bout of public service by pointing out the obvious. "It's not brain surgery, open door, go downstairs, and help him. You're the only one here who knows what he looks like. I'm not your lapdog; don't expect me to go down there asking strangers if they need help carrying stuff up to the apartment. That might be your version of trolling for a date on a Saturday night, but I'm not down with it."

He glanced to Rinoa, who jumped onto a stool across from him. "Or were you planning on pimping out our witness? Gotta say, you feds takes some creative approaches when it comes to witness protecting. Here in Timber, we generally prefer _not_ placing our wards into the line of fire and actually, you know, protect them."

"Your natural ability to be an ass is actually quite commendable. People strive for perfection in their chosen field; you've obtained it."

"Aw, coming from you Fed-Boy, that means absolutely nothing."

He wasn't going to be baited, Squall newest mantra. To be fair, he understood how his earlier statement could have come off like that, unfortunately that was the equivalent of handing Seifer a blank check.

"To be clear, Agent Dincht has arrived in Timber, calling to say he believed he's a few minutes out, but thank you for your assumptions. You've once again demonstrated your superior ability to fail."

"I call it failing with style." Again, he relied on his arm gestures to sell his point.

"I have no words."

"Shocking. It would've been more shocking if you actually _had_ the words." Seifer was done with him. Instead he leaned over, taking a moment to look at Rinoa's bandage. "You know, this is holding up fairly well, especially considering it survived your attempt at starting up a slow-pitch decorative pillow league."

She smiled. "Give it time to catch on, it'll take the interior design schools by storm before it branches out to the mainstream." Rinoa nervously toyed with an empty wire fruit bowl glancing to Squall. "Your friend's bringing the stuff, right?"

"Excuse me?" Squall admitted that he was only paying partial attention, tuning Seifer out was something that he'd been doing more than he'd care admit. Rinoa was about to clarify, but he'd pieced things together by context. "Yes, Agent Dincht will bring the supplies. With the channels I used, it was easier to set up a furnished, secured living space without raising flags. However, once medical supplies get involved, it became trickier. It wasn't life-or-death, so I didn't chance it to outsiders."

"Oh, no, no…I get the secrecy and wasn't pointing fingers. Believe me, I'm grateful for everything. I guess, I was just checking about my arm…then again, maybe it was a thinly-veiled attempt at my hope to start a conversation. Maybe both." Rinoa shrugged that off, but Squall appreciated that she'd been that straight forward. It was…unexpected and a little refreshing. As she continued talking, it seemed less…forced, maybe? Sitting there, as she and Seifer had started a game of table hockey with the fruit bowl, she seemed comfortable.

Laughing as Seifer pushed the bowl into her lap thereby scoring a goal, she continued. "Although there is a third possibility, like I'm secretly hoping you two forgot, no matter how unlikely. I've never been thrilled with needles…guess I better face the music."

"Sure." His reply was odd, but both she and Seifer had grown used to his responses feeling one beat off of normal conversation.

"Miss Heartilly, that tour you'd mentioned." The second he started speaking, she'd already been waiting for that Squall-moment when the other shoe dropped.

"I've reconsidered the request, once Agent Dincht arrives. I'm sure Seifer will be willing to set up an area where I can work on your arm. Call it a gut feeling, but I believe you'll be better off not seeing everything beforehand. I'll concede, you were probably onto something about the apartment briefing, it's best go over the outline sooner rather than later."

"Holy Ifrit on a stick, I was right! You _are_ a human-shaped fun-sucking leech," Seifer announced loudly, hitting the counter in celebration, "Fed-Boy, she asked for a tour - _not_ something that requires an outline or is in any way, shape, or form called an 'apartment briefing.' Seriously, Rinoa, you'd better hope the final exam is open-book, because listening to him prattle on is more potent than any sleeping pill on the market."

…Maybe he needed to exaggerate a little, artistic license was a fine-line. Seeing as Seifer prided himself as a visual person, he made sure that this particular line was bolded, underlined, italicized, highlighted…it was easier to see that way. There was something about Squall that bugged the hell out of him, like how he'd been so dismissive when asked about the tour. Hell, he wasn't just dismissive, he was downright _offensive_. He was trying to restrain himself from getting into Squall's face, telling him pointblank that spending time with Rinoa wasn't a punishment – spending time with him was. Of course, now that super-agent changed his mind, Rinoa was supposed to fall over herself grateful and take notes?

Unfortunately, Seifer would have to table his ire for now. Squall was thankful that Agent Dincht's timing had been impeccable - words he'd never believed could occupy the same sentence unless it was done ironically.

"I'll be back in five minutes, lock up after me." Squall was thankful to take a step away.

"Do we have to let you back in? I'm serious, do we?" Seifer teased, but in hindsight, he should've had an inkling into Squall's volatile mood.

"Sure, lock me out, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here."

"Really?"

"Yes, really Detective Almasy, I promise being here certainly wasn't my choice. I'm trapped in this living hell like you are." He was tired, it had been over twenty-four hours since he'd slept, and he hadn't thought about how hurtful that was to Rinoa.

He would, _eventually_. Unfortunately, that wouldn't happen until he was in the elevator on the way back up, but for once he was living in the moment – that wasn't always a good thing.

"You're an asshole." Seifer saw Rinoa turn away, placing her head on the countertop. "No, I take it back, asshole is way too nice for you…you're like the asshole on a one-cell piece of plankton. Can you actually say something that isn't rude or obnoxious?"

"Well, I could correct all the scientific inaccuracies of that statement, but I don't have enough time or patience in the world. So, I'll be polite and say that you're wrong."

Squall did his best not to slam the door behind him, again 'goodbye' was lacking from his vocabulary. Placing his sunglasses on, he wished he could remain hidden from the world. No, he was better than this. By the time he got downstairs, he saw Zell had parked across the street. As he walked over, something unexpected occurred, something that hadn't happened in the history of, well, ever.

"I'm so glad to see you," Squall said harshly.

Behind his sunglasses, Agent Dincht shook his head as he slowly glanced around the parking structure. There was only one logical explanation - hidden cameras, microphones, and an entire television crew jammed into a production van alongside Director Kramer and his girlfriend Alexandra who'd obviously set this up. They had to be watching everything unfold from closed-circuit monitors and any minute now, they'd jump out, yelling that he'd been pranked for some television show. Then they'd all share a good laugh.

Unfortunately, that theory wasn't panning out. A good ways up, he caught sight of a white van with a rose decal, but that didn't seem to be a production vehicle, just an actual florist delivery van.

"…Ah, you too?" Zell hesitantly responded as he continued to stare.

Since the practical joke theory seemed to be a bust, his mind started formulating other logical reasons. Was it a parallel universe or maybe his former partner had been injected with experimental 'nice' drugs? Maybe the train had somehow gone through portal and time had been distorted by some power hungry madman…or madwoman as Alex always was on him about equality. He knew he'd been reading too many articles in Occult Fan when the theory of pod people or some sort of outer space abduction scenario actually seemed plausible.

However, the last thought was probably the most horrifying. What if Squall Leonhart had said he was glad to see him because he was _actually_ _glad to see him_? Zell suddenly became horrified, if Squall was like this…what was he going to find lurking inside that apartment?


	18. At Your Doorstep…

The odds of becoming a special agent in the FBI had always been stacked against him.

From the day Zell Dincht submitted his application, he knew that, on average, only one in ten thousand moved on to the next stage. In retrospect, although that hurdle had been significant, it paled in comparison to what was to follow. The first phase consisted of tests that had been mentally trying more so than outright difficult. He'd been told there was no way to truly study, only needing to go in with a clear head…which, to tell the truth, was by far the most difficult aspect of it – due to an unfortunately-timed radio advertisement, he ended up with tacos on the brain.

The second phase consisted of more testing – some in-depth interviewing and a fitness evaluation that felt even more insurmountable… This time his greatest adversary wasn't tacos, it was a plethora of annoying mosquito bites; his oh-so-brilliant idea of 'study outside to relax under the stars,' backfired immensely. He hoped that the interviewer didn't notice him as he stealthily removed his shoe and used his foot to scratch at his calf.

As a whole, the tests, interviews, physical endurance, tacos, and mosquitos proved to be the biggest challenge he'd ever faced in his life, even more so than being deployed in a war zone for six months. To be fair though, he wasn't in the trenches as his degree in information systems and cybersecurity kept him off the front lines. But it was that innate need to help his country and protect his family and loved ones that eventually led him down the path that ended at the FBI's doorstep. Literally.

Zell was originally from Balamb, but had moved to Deling City not too long after returning home from being overseas. A few weeks had been far from enough to acquaint himself with the city's confusing layout. Even though he could've sworn he was walking in a straight line, every street inexplicably seemed to circle back to the same area. One day he'd been on his way to meet up with his CO about reenlistment, but managed to get lost in the process. He'd been trying to navigate the GPS on his mobile and unfortunately hadn't seen the rather large cement steps in front of him. His phone went airborne at a rate of speed that defied the laws of physics and, although he avoided suffering the small indignity of doing a face plant in the heart of Galbadia's political district, it was a small consolation at best. He heard the unceremonious ' _kerplunk_ ' of his phone as it did a swan dive into the reflecting pool.

Taking off his shoes and socks and rolling up his pants, he then hoped nobody was looking as he went wading to retrieve his phone. Irritated, wet, and still very lost, he decided to walk into the building the aforementioned steps were attached to - the FBI's downtown office. He was going to go in and ask the security guard at the counter for directions, but one of the two guards couldn't help but giggle as he walked in – it turned out that she'd been coming in lunch and had witnessed the whole thing. After getting directions, he started to leave, but turned back to look at the large marble building. There was something about this place that just felt right. That night he was glad that the step had decided to jump out and attack him – obviously his recollection of events - and did his research on how to apply. The rest was history.

Of course, maybe if he had known what the following months would entail, he might've turned around and hightailed it out of there.

Fast forward a few months – Zell had survived the initial phases of the bureau's application process, not to mention he'd scored the world's most _amazing_ taco – both were extremely worthy accomplishments in his book. However, little did he know that he was about to face the greatest challenge in his life.

It was the first time that his smile hadn't come naturally. Zell had been cautioned, or more like _flat-out warned_ , by several agents, but he wasn't too worried. Serving in the military had taught him how to live by a regimented schedule; he'd survived boot camp and an active war zone. He was under the impression these so-called 'warnings' were something given by senior agents to scare new the newbies. Of course, it turned out that the warnings were in fact warnings. Nothing could prepare him for the beating that both his body and psyche were about to take. The word 'nightmare' didn't do it justice, although the word 'hell' leaned just on the side of overkill. But, if pressed to choose between the descriptions, he'd admit the scales were (heavily) tipped to the latter rather than the former.

Still, even when things seemed their darkest, Zell remembered this was his choice; it wasn't as if he couldn't walk away as there would be no actual consequences, but he wouldn't - quitting was never an option in his mind. He had made it this far into his training, plus his Ma had taught him never to back down from a challenge and what he was about to endure made military boot camp feel like summer camp.

It was intense physical training to his body collapsed, retching until he reached the point where non-existent bile scarred his throat. But, his nightmarish-hell went far beyond the physical demands. He followed a regimented educational curriculum. That was capped off with a proposed thesis on why behavioral science was an art, including a graduate-level report and presentation. Then this was followed by having to precisely navigating a driving course that seemed to suspend the law of physics. From there, he had firearm testing that demanded perfection, not only with a handgun, but with a variety of weapons. And, if all that wasn't demanding enough, even his "downtime" had been commandeered; instead of having a few minutes to decompress, his mental acuity was tested –constantly bombarded with hypothetical and real-life scenarios that he worked through like a puzzle. Every decision could mean the difference between life or death.

It had taken almost everything out of him but, when he 'passed,' Zell wanted to organize a small parade to celebrate the accomplishment. Sadly, it would've been a parade of one, which ironically coincided with the size of his graduating class. Those memories hadn't been about the twenty week training program at the FBI's facility, although their syllabus and the ones he was speaking of had similarities… _in theory_.

Looking back, Zell could say that the FBI and the military's training programs shared similarities – both now seeming like extreme versions of summer camp. Those were words _nobody_ in their right mind would say, hell, a few years ago he himself would've thought he was nuts if he'd heard those words from his mouth…but that was _before_. Both those programs paled in comparison to what Zell 'attended' his first year at the bureau. If he likened _that_ experience to a camp, it could only be described as a nightmarish camp-of-the-damned. The facility's director was a demanding, often petulant, and possibly 1/16 part demon-spawn, tyrant that feasted on the souls of the innocent campers making macramé gunblade cozies - also known as his former partner, Squall Leonhart.

Okay, Leonhart may not have been _that_ bad. In fact, he'd grown to like the guy in his own unique way. Zell just had a tendency to go overboard with his metaphors, but as a partnership, the truth was neither of them ever sat around a campfire singing kumbaya.

In hindsight, becoming an agent was easy, being partnered with Agent Leonhart…that was hard.

Zell mused that there'd probably been far better statistical odds of hitting a lottery's jackpot – _twice_ – than making it through what he had. This included being the 'lucky' recipient of an anal-retentive, conversationally-challenged, exceptionally-obtuse partner in Leonhart _and_ _then_ volunteering - _willingly_ – to do his 'extra' training. Again, possibly his most noteworthy accomplishment to date was surviving Squall's training relatively unscathed…

See, to Agent Leonhart, the instructors at the FBI academy were far too lenient – a fact that he made abundantly clear upon their first meeting. That whole encounter was something that stuck with the younger agent as it was, well… it was downright _odd_.

Agent Dincht had been sitting at a table in a small conference room, filling out some supplemental forms for human resources. The room had glass walls and, as he was looking up, he happened to notice a rather imposing figure headed towards him. He couldn't make out much, well, besides the fact that this man walked with purpose and he did so in a very impressive, very expensive, charcoal-gray tailored suit – at least he noticed this when the man was close enough.

This wasn't an off-the-rack ensemble thrown together from Wall-Market. No, Zell immediately recognized that it had been custom-made and if it was by the Estharian designer he believed it to be, the man was _legendary_ for his suit collection. This had been the first time that Zell had seen one of his creations in person; the designer was something of an artist and he couldn't help but admire his craftsmanship – of course, maybe he should've thought about _that one_ a tad longer.

Zell had a tendency to notice these things as his former girlfriend had made alterations for a living, working for Balamb's most-exclusive tailor. Because of that, dinner conversations often drifted in that direction as they'd discussed such things as designers, fabrics, trends - basically anything to do with the men's fashion industry. Plus, when he was staying the night, he'd often find himself skimming through the latest editions of _Suit Up_ , the industry's leading publication. Of course, the irony wasn't lost on him as his idea of the perfect outfit was a pair of oversized boxing shorts and a comfortable t-shirt. Still, his foray into the fashion world was one of those skeletons he kept in the closet.

Of course, this was probably one of those rare instances where trading one embarrassing secret for another was better than the alternative because, as he was admiring the tailored-made suit, its current occupant wasn't so appreciative of said admiration, looking directly at him. That was the moment when Agent Dincht forever cursed the architect who believed that glass walls were a good idea – this was not the first impression he'd been aiming for. Back then, he _could_ have hoped that he'd never run into this man again, but Zell wasn't that naïve - he knew how this tired trope would play out. His suspicions were confirmed when the door opened and suit-dude briskly approached him with a binder tucked under his left arm.

Zell nearly tripped over the chair's metal legs as he had jumped to his feet with his hand extended... and this was when it got _odd_ – and that was saying something. Zell continued to stand there, and stand there, and then stand for a tad longer. Finally, he felt every bit the fool when the gesture had been deliberately snubbed. Instead of shaking his hand, suit-guy reached into an inner-jacket pocket and retrieved his official FBI identification. By his demeanor alone, he could have just as easily been presenting himself at a crime scene or introducing himself to a potential witness as he flipped open his badge, holding it up with his free hand.

"Special Agent Squall Leonhart, FBI."

Zell stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Inside, all he could think was that he was thankful this man stated his name and showed his badge – as it was now obvious that Squall Leonhart impersonator's must've been running rampant in the halls of the FBI. Then, all of a sudden, Zell relaxed as he started laughing - this had to have been some sort of joke.

"Good one." He smiled. "You're very intimidating – it's good to see it in action."

Now it was Squall's turn to stare. There was that awkward moment when Zell suddenly realized it wasn't either a joke or a lesson it was….well, he had no idea what that was.

Without any further comment about that, he reached for the three ring binder and presented to Zell.

"This is life or death. I expect my partner to be as prepared as I am. Consider your academy training an introductory course. This is what I expect of you. From now on, this binder will be your free time."

At that point, Zell realized exactly what he'd gotten himself into; he also wondered if it would be wrong to ask about the betting pool he'd seen with fifteen minute intervals. When he accepted the packet, he had no intention of following Suitman's training. Until he had had more information that seemed like a good place-holder nickname, he wasn't entirely sure if he was dealing with a super hero or an evil genius. Little did he know that by 4:30 am the next day, he'd be up and running his first of many miles of the day.

And as they walked together into the building, Zell finally decided that between super hero or evil genius, Squall Leonhart was a little bit of both. The year-long training regimen _had_ helped; in fact, Zell credited it to the fact that he was in peak physical condition. Somehow when Zell had 'passed' Squall's program, he thought that maybe even if he didn't get his parade, he'd at least earned his former partner's respect – the only thing he'd earned was the qualifier of the word 'former' in his title. It was obvious that Leonhart worked better alone, but no matter their history, no matter if the respect hadn't been mutual, there was something about the guy that Zell liked - even if he was possibly a 1/16 demon-spawn.

Of course, there was a little more to, there had been an underlying method to Leonhart's madness, but it would be awhile before it was figured out. The main thing was that there was an obvious disconnect between the two agents, so that's why their current situation didn't make a lick of sense. Hopefully, he'd get answers.

-o-O-O-o-

_October 11th 4:02pm_

As they entered the building, Agent Dincht was doing his best to act casual. Someone was meeting later with the supplies as he couldn't gather them in time and Squall had taken the first aid kit, which left Zell's hands awkwardly empty. He removed his sunglasses, carefully placing them into his breast pocket and then he…he did nothing.

It was officially the end of the line as his brain couldn't come up with a single, legitimate thing that could be classified as 'casual' while waiting for the elevator. Damn it, maybe he should've decided to take up smoking on the way over - at least he could've reached for a cigarette then. True, technically smoking was banned in common areas in buildings, but it would've at least been something. Or food…if he'd had food he could've casually reached in his pocket and snacked on it. He made a mental note to start carrying some sort of snack food for these sorts of occasions. Unfortunately, he'd probably have to settle on something like peanuts because micro-compressed hot-dogs that expanded when unwrapped seemed light years away. Sadly, the guys in the bureau lab probably had a few other things to work on before this particular pipedream would come to fruition. .

After Leonhart hit the elevator button, the only thing there was to do was to stand in awkward silence, _very_ _awkward_ silence. Damn it, cursed himself for not being more adamant about carrying the first aid case, then at least he could pretend to be looking through it, but Squall had been rather insistent on having it. Shifting his weight, Zell started to think that this was the slowest elevator in the history of elevators. It really wasn't, but he was fairly certain that Agent Leonhart was a scientific anomaly and existed just out of the space-time continuum so time slowed the closer you got.

Thankfully, as slowly as the seconds ticked by, Zell had forgotten about the awkwardness and remembered his original concern - Squall's rather 'unique' mood. He wanted to glance against at the agent next to him, maybe revisit some sort of doppelganger theory. Zell had always been an insanely huge fan of movies in the horror and sci-fi genres, especially those low-budget movies that were more hysterical than scary. Although he could rule out a few of plotlines because they didn't fit the current scenario, like when Mega Geezard fought with the Giant Caterchipillar or, even slightly more unbelievable, when killer Fastitocalons got swept into a tornado and terrorized the unsuspecting populous of Deling City or when-

-No, this had to be believable because they were about to reach the point in the film where the unsuspecting victim – _aka him_ \- walked onto the elevator with the shape-shifting, space-dwelling tentacle monster wearing a Squall suit. The poor sap in the movie never stopped to ask the obvious questions and that's when bad things usually happened.

The elevators doors finally opened to a lone man standing there. He carried a few boxes on a dolly, which accounted for some of the delay. Zell eagerly jumped in to help the man get through. He appeared to be an artisan, probably on his way to one of the local craft fairs. After he was out of the way, Zell found that he quickly had to shelve all his body-snatcher theories; he was either walking into an elevator with his former partner or into a small tin box of impending doom. Once they stepped in and the doors closed behind them, things suddenly turned weird, well… _weirder_.

Squall stood there.

And there it was…that feeling of inferiority that ran rampant during their partnership. When Leonhart was silent, he always spoke the loudest. In the past, Squall would stand there giving a judgmental look and, sometimes, he'd accompany it by the occasional (and dreaded) single word answer. That had always been the worst. Of course, this time, it was different because although he was just _standing there_ , his harsh glare wasn't directed towards Zell, but rather towards a wall inside the elevator. There was no doubt that the senior agent had been off a step, but this rather interesting development made it even more apparent and the fact that after he stepped in, he didn't even bother to turn around, pretty much sealed the deal.

Zell found himself glancing between the man and the elevator buttons. Since he'd been the one to make the arrangements for the witness, he knew where the apartment was, but he held off on pushing any buttons, awaiting further information from Squall because information was the one thing Zell had little of - especially when it came to matters such as why the hell he was here.

Before all this, it was just an average Tuesday for him. He was sitting at his cubicle, alternating between national security and some _slightly_ less pressing matters right before the phone rang. When he realized that it was Squall's voice on the other end, he nearly fell off of his chair. It didn't help that he'd been engaged in a kick-ass game of solitaire on his mobile phone because the government sadly had the wherewithal to remove it from their main systems. He felt like a kid being busted by a parent, but thankfully Squall had other things on his mind at the time.

It had been all very hush-hush and Zell knew better than to ask. But they were alone now and maybe he could get some sort of answers. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards Squall. His jaw was clenched with his hand on his forehead and his thumb and forefinger rubbing his temple. He was looking down at the elevator floor.

"I'm thinking."

Zell nodded, although not really in understanding. Squall Leonhart seemed…distressed. This was definitely something that qualified as new and also landed just on this side of weird. He seriously needed to find out what the hell happened at last weekend's seminar because maybe that's what should be investigated. Actually, it suddenly made sense, more sense than the Squall-wearing tentacle monster. Maybe, at the convention center, Agent Leonhart had walked into the wrong conference room and accidentally stumbled into one of those mass-hypnotism session thingies that Zell often found flyers on his car's windshield for.

Of course, none of this negated the fact that he was the one confined in a small space with the man. However, if someone had managed to rewire his brain, and it wasn't to stop smoking or make better dietary decisions, maybe it would be a tad more entertaining like in the movies. If Leonhart started ' _kwehing'_ and believing that he was a Chocobo, then the hypnotic-trance theory just may be verified...and also may be highly amusing.

"I screwed up."

Agent Dincht was in momentary shock; in fact, so much so that he nearly blurted out his first thought of, _"Eat some bad Gysahl Greens and your stomach's upset?"_ Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed.

"I didn't think that was possible."

…Yeah, apparently Zell should've cooled his head a little longer because that came out a tad bit condescending.

"-The hell?"

Squall shot back irritably, although he could understand Dincht's reaction. Normally, he would internalize and analyze his actions, even the ones that were in question. Zell was acutely aware about Squall's philosophy and the whole idea that admitting culpability was a weakness. Namely because he'd highlighted it - _literally_ highlighted it in orange in the first section of the binder.

Saying he screwed up would be one of several things he regretted in this moment. Try as he might, he couldn't shake what he said in front of Heartilly and now that he brought Dincht into this, he couldn't say which decision he regretted more.

Saying that would be one of several things he regretted in this moment. Try as he might, he couldn't shake what he said in front of Heartilly and now he brought Dincht into this; he couldn't say which decision he regretted more.

"I take it this has to do with Heartilly?"

"Yes... No."

Great. Now he was incapable of even giving a straight answer. Whatever, maybe there was no real answer here - it didn't matter.

He finally answered Zell with something that could only be defined as non-answer.

"Earlier, I apologized just to appease her. I can't imagine the song and dance I'm going to have to do get around this one."

"Thought you didn't dance?" Zell tried to josh before mentally reprimanding himself two seconds later. It was meant to be a lighthearted attempt at humor, but he'd broken the cardinal rule, forgetting his target audience. He was met with terse silence. "Sorry. I forgot Squall Leonhart rule number one - 'keep it to yourself'."

In hindsight, obvious mistake was obvious. He couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "Man, it really has been forever. I'm not kidding when I say you're the last person I'd thought I'd ever hear from."

Squall grunted a response. "Makes two of us."

"You know, ah…no offence, but we really should get moving. You can brief me upstairs…if someone finds us in here, there's gonna be talk. Not to mention, you're staring at the wall…and that's just plain weird."

There was, what Zell believed, a momentary look of confusion on the other agent's face before he shook his head and finally turned around. He pounded the button with his fist, making it even more obvious that he didn't care what anybody thought. Though, if Zell had to venture a guess, no matter how remote and insanely-crazy it seemed, he had a gut feeling that Squall had been stalling. _This_ rather interesting fact led him to venturing an even bigger guess as the elevator started moving.

"…So, this witness, what's she like?"

"Like any other one – annoying." He paused briefly before uncharacteristically adding, "You should be two peas in a pod. Fair warning, the pod's a little crowded with Almasy. He probably won't be fond of you invading his space, pod or otherwise."

Yep. It was official - they'd just circled back into weird.

Leonhart's response had been more than his normal brusque answer. He had officially spoken more words in ten minutes than through the entirety of their partnership. Still, old habits died hard, and in the back of his mind, Zell half-expected the man to pull out that goddamned binder and administer a pop quiz.

The rest of the ride was thankfully uneventful. Still, it raised far more questions than it answered. And as they neared the corner loft apartment of the converted warehouse, Zell couldn't help but feel the least bit curious; he'd heard so much about Heartilly and Almasy that he was actually looking forward to meeting them. Right now, they were fictional characters running around in his head based solely on Squall's words, or lack thereof, and so he only wondered if the reality would come anywhere to close to the fantasy.

-o-O-O-o-

Sitting on a bar stool, Rinoa found that it was impossible to concentrate. She'd spent far too much time trying not to look at the back of the door and not only was she failing, but failing miserably. Somewhere along the line, she'd reached over and grabbed a decorative pinecone. There had been a several stacked in a die-cut silver bowl that had been placed to the side of the counter. From a glance, the loft looked like it had elements of nature dotted throughout. A lot of her focus was pulled to an entire wall that appeared to be made from reclaimed wood. Had she been in a better mood, Rinoa might have appreciated the marriage of natural elements and technology in the loft's decor.

As it was, her mood wasn't so good, plus she was playing with a pinecone. A telltale sign of how entertained she currently had been.

So, as Seifer clunked about the kitchen, Rinoa mindlessly stared at the pinecones. Of all the thoughts that existed in the world, somehow, her brain decided to settle on this – she was impressed by the bowl's resiliency. Yep. Seriously. After all, the bowl and its pinecone-y contents _had_ managed to survive their lopsided pillow fight and that had to prove as testament to _something_ , although precisely what was lost on her.

Then again, a lot of things were lost on her. The most terrifying realization in all this was that today was the first day of many. No, it was the first day of the rest of her life - that's what people always said, right? It was supposed to be some comforting thought, but today, on day one, it felt like anything but. Tomorrow would be like today; the day after would be like that too. There was no end in sight; one endless day would morph into the next.

She couldn't think about it; she'd drive herself crazy or fall into a deep depression, neither option was vaguely appealing. That's why she thought about pinecones instead; they were safe. Yes, it was ridiculous and absurd, but far better than those alternatives. Of course, she soon came to the realization that she knew precisely diddly-squat about pinecones. Until now, she'd never cared to learn, yet now holding one, examining it closely, they were sort of fascinating. She wished she'd paid more attention in science class.

…Actually, she wished she'd paid more attention in just about everything in school. Then maybe things would make sense, people would make sense… _he'd_ make sense. He seemed so spiteful, hateful even. His moods would just change in the span of a heartbeat. One minute he'd allow her to see a glimpse of his human side. The next, it was as if his intent had been to purposely hurt her. It was never outright; he was too smart for that. His words often carried duel meaning and his comments sometimes backhanded, that's how he went about it, always indirect but, most importantly, always subjective.

She became angry thinking of him. Here he was, oh-so-inconvenienced by her friends dying. If she'd gone with them, it would've been easier on Seifer, Squall, and Quistis. Sadly, probably even her too. What was it? Oh yes, he called this his 'living hell,' which made perfect sense, because seeing _half_ of her friend certainly seemed like paradise to her.

Why was she doing this to herself again? Why did she seem to care about something, _someone_ , who didn't care about her above what his job required? She shouldn't blame him as he was right - this wasn't personal. Trying to separate the two was her hang-up, not his.

Seifer had been watching. Almasy had temporarily placed his detective skills on the backburner for his lesser-known culinary ones. He searched through cupboards, getting the lay of the land, but had made sure to keep an eye on her. Of course, now that she had begun staring at a pinecone, this most likely could be construed as a bad sign. He set the saucepan in his hand on stove and decided that now was the time to join her and her newfound fascination with pinecones.

Seifer decided it was time for the big guns. He reached over, taking three of the remaining four cones. He held two in his left hand, while he tossed the one in his right in the air a few times as if it were a baseball.

"Get ready for pure awesomeness. Wait, I'm selling myself a little short and we can't have that. Get ready for pure _awesomeness-ness_ \- you can't cram in more awesome than that. Although for safety concerns, you may want to stand back… The first few rows usually get drops of awesome splashed on them. FYI, I'm still sticking with the _'being your knight'_ theory but since the whole jester idea reared its ugly bell-hatted head, I'm demonstrating just how misunderstood their profession can be. True fact: jesters are made of win."

He then cleared his throat and proceeded to bow as if he'd just walked on stage. From there, he continued tossing the single cone high in the air. Then, he skillfully added a second and third pinecone into the fray. He went through a series of stunts - juggling one-handed and two, spinning, and even a not-so-graceful jump that had her in hysterics. At one point, he treated them as if they were hacky sacks.

Rinoa had to admit that this was entertainment at its finest, or rather, its cheapest. A laugh. A smile. The young woman couldn't help herself, but her reaction had more to do with his overacting. Not to say that his moves weren't impressive, they most certainly were, yet it was watching his attempts at both 'shimmying' and 'shaking' through his transitions that stood out as incredibly noteworthy. She also found herself suppressing a rather unexpected devious streak. True, her idea might not have been with the best intentions, but its outcome would be _beyond_ priceless. Once she could ditch the babysitters, she'd appeal to Seifer's obvious alpha-dog ego by challenging him in a dare. She'd spent a fair amount of time in the Garden District. In fact, so much so that she knew if the detective turned his 'jester act' into a full-on performance piece in the park, it would draw quite the crowd - she'd be there, front and center, camera in hand.

Smiling, she suddenly couldn't shake that idea. It was actually more important than she first realized; it had been the first 'normal' thought she had in quite some time. She had managed to think about the future with a pinch of optimism, even if it was making her friend the butt of some sort of joke. Even if she'd admit to it, which she wouldn't, he'd be glad for her, plus it was all in good fun.

Somewhere along the line, Rinoa even started to clap along in time with his latest and absolutely horrible attempt - a foray into rapping with some sort of beat-box thing. No matter how god-awful it was, it was the perfect accompaniment to this five-star performance. She noticed that small pieces of pinecone broke off and sailed through the air fairly often. She still didn't know their scientific name, although she figured that Seifer would refer to them as 'fragmented bits of concentrated awesome' or something equally as ridiculous. No matter what the pieces were called, one thing became evident – after they were done hiding out in this loft, the FBI would be footing the bill for a bowl full of decorative pinecones. She'd love to see how Agent Leonhart explained away that charge on his expense report.

"Ready for the grand finale?"

There was no time respond as he simultaneously tossed all three pinecones in the air, managed a 540 degree spin before grabbing the saucepan, and then flawlessly caught all three cones. She'd give credit where credit was due - it was obvious that he'd spent far too many hours practicing to achieve this highly sought after level of 'awesomeness-ness.' It had to have been either a learned skill as a wayward teen or in the result of a side job between that whole 'detective gig'. Still, she wouldn't have changed a thing; his dramatic flair was so over-the-top cheesy that it was completely endearing. Plus, he really tried to cheer her up…that meant more than all the pinecones on the planet.

"Okay, the last part – totally not planned, but that's what happens when the awesome flows through your veins like blood."

Seifer placed the pan on the counter by the sink - he'd get to that later as now it was time to be serious. He was grateful that she'd been able to smile, but Leonhart would be back shortly. With the loft sprouting another fed-head, this may be his only chance to openly and honestly speak with her.

He exhaled loudly; it was a genuine moment of frustration, not particularly directed towards her, or even to him, but at the situation as a whole. The counter was high enough so that he was able to rest his elbows on it and still be able to remain in direct eye contact. This also gave him a moment to catch his breath as he came to the unfortunate realization that he was no longer sixteen years old. Gone was the time where he'd spent countess summer months loitering at the beach and playing hacky sack in the heat of the day.

"In all seriousness, don't worry about _whatshisface._ The things he said were out of line. Normally, I'd confront the ass, get him to give the apology you deserve, but with him, it's going to mean shit. Fed-Jerk has it stuck in his mind that he can't be wrong and it's impossible to reason with someone who _just. Doesn't. Get. It._ Seriously, I've been around his type far too often – thinks he's all mysterious and tries way too hard to come off as one of those puzzles, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a mystery…or however that saying goes. The problem is, once you peel back all those layers of wrapping, all that remains is an empty husk."

Reaching over, Seifer grabbed one of the two remaining pinecones in the bowl and then held it directly between them. "This is Squall. Amazingly, the other Fed-Boy and this slightly shorter version could be taken for twins…just remember, the cone version is a helleva lot less nauseating, plus a helleva lot better looking. All kidding aside, go back to earlier. You know, wrapped enigma, puzzle, yadda yadda, and all that jazz - _that thing_ \- it's just that underneath it all, there's huge similarities between him and the pinecone. Both are emotionally-stunted, prickly little guys, both have the personalities and looks of deadwood, and being around Leonhart is the equivalent of getting a painful splinter lodged under your fingernail…My bad, _mostly_ kidding aside. He just makes it so damn easy."

Rinoa's smile remained thoughtful, even though she felt guilty for laughing at Leonhart's expense. That hadn't been her intent - she just wanted Squall to…well, honestly, she just wanted to be respected, as farfetched a possibility as it were. Still, she felt bad and reminded herself that she shouldn't be a party to this, no matter how damn funny it was. She'd regret it, especially if the 'slightly taller' version happened to show up.

Time to take control. "Bad Seifer. No toys for you. I'm taking your Squall action figure away so you can think about what you've done."

Reaching out, she removed the pinecone from his hand. At one point, she began to toss it back into its bowl, but decided against it at the last moment. Placing it on the counter, she found that she was casually batting it back-and-forth to keep herself somewhat occupied.

Folding his arms, Seifer smirked as he offered her sly wink. "I love it when you go all bad cop on me. Totally hot."

"Your dreams. My nightmares," she scoffed, "Now what were you saying before you turned _all_ _you_ because I took your plaything away?"

The detective found himself fighting against his natural instincts. It was as cliché as it could possibly get but, every fiber of being wanted to crack sarcastic remarks about the situation. Seriously, the almost perfect ammo had been thrown into his lap with her whole, 'Squall action figure' comment - he couldn't come up with shit better than that. The fact that she'd held onto to the pine-Squall…er, wait, he wasn't sold on that. Squall-cone? _Maybe_ a tad better… he'd have to mull this one over but, hybrid names aside, his former life-sized Leonhart action figure was now her plaything and the obvious symbolism was comedic gold. Pointing it out was the last thing this situation called for, however. As difficult as these things got, he needed to be serious again.

"Rin, don't take what the jerk says to heart - the guy's not wired like you or I. He doesn't process things like-" Red flag. Feelings, emotions, basically anything in that general family? An extremely bad idea to bring up. "…Never mind, I'm only going to make it worse. Just remember, we both know he's lonely and angry at the world. Who knows what his story is and, honestly? That's none of our business. However, it very much becomes my business when he lashes out at you. He can own all the designer suits and imported cars he wants, but means exactly jack shit."

He needed to end on a light note. She appeared to be trapped in thought and, given the topic of conversation, that could be extremely detrimental. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to go through any of this again - each time he had to be somewhat decent to Leonhart, a brain cell died.

"…So yeah, I'm aware this is all an opinion and all, no matter how right it is, but at times like this you should remember one important thing - I'm the pinnacle of awesome. So, yep, there's that."

…Yep. That didn't go as planned. At all. And even though Rinoa listened, somewhat understanding where he was coming from, she found it impossible to move past one specific thing.

"Lonely?" The word stuck in her throat, almost as much as it stuck in her mind.

Seriously, after Leonhart's outburst, Almasy could've verbally torn him a new one; he could have also had a field day coming up with his share of creative adjectives – and maybe he had, _to a point_. But there was a touch of empathy about his words, even in those he tried to mask behind the humor. That had been something Rinoa couldn't shake; there had been something inherently-sad about both sides. Seifer was right, it wasn't her business, but that didn't mean she couldn't be caught entirely off guard.

And now, there was something Seifer couldn't shake it either.

Or rather, he couldn't shake how damn stupid he was. How had he allowed that particular opinion to slip? Mentioning anything that humanized Leonhart, or brought about unsolicited sympathy for Fed-Boy, was precisely what Seifer had been trying to avoid. Truthfully, there was only so much Seifer could say about the agent - positive, negative, or otherwise. The man was going to end up doing it to himself. It was only a matter of time, sooner or later, Squall would self-implode.

What the detective didn't care admitting was that somewhere, deep inside, there was a small, _very_ small, _infinitesimally_ small, part of himself that felt for Agent Leonhart. The man _was_ lonely - Seifer sensed it almost immediately. To put it frankly, Almasy had been around the block enough times to learn that sometimes, the harder someone is trying, the more they're trying to hide or run from something. That's why the detective firmly believed that even with Squall's ass-load of education, promotions, accolades, or whatever else that was crammed onto his resume, he was too far in denial to see the truth. He was lost and most likely would continue to be a royal dick until he figured that out – _if_ – he ever figured it out.

Although it was slightly painful to admit, Seifer believed that in another world, under other circumstances, a small part of him pictured himself hanging out with Fed-Boy, although he'd likely not be Fed-Boy there. Even more telling was that, again, under different circumstance, Seifer could see this Heartilly-Leonhart thing working out if they toned the stubbornness down and she was truly a glutton for punishment.

But the truth was, this just wasn't their universe…but Seifer kind of cheered for them in the next.

Maybe it was that sliver of sympathy that kept him from totally trashing the agent. So much for not humanizing the man. "Lonely doesn't mean not being around people. In that respect, I think he's…he's probably more lost than any of us. He thinks he knows it all and has some master 'life plan' or whatever and lashes out at anything that challenges that. But come on, we both know I'm preaching to the choir on this one. Something tells me you already figured out a lot of this."

At first, she didn't look up as she continued watching the pinecone as she batted it back and forth with her hands. Finally, she made eye contact as she offered a pitiful smile. "A small bit, maybe. Maybe I wanted…verification, of sorts? You're right, it's not my business. I already screwed that up by overstepping my bounds. I sort of…screwed up royally. I may or may not have offered him unsolicited advice about his relationship with Quistis. He thinks my father will help further their careers, get her back to Deling City. I possibly mentioned that if he truly cares about her, he can't let their future ride on Caraway. The man will only disappoint them. He at least seemed to be thinking about it."

Seifer let out a small, inaudible sound. She believed maybe it was something like a ' _tch_?' This was one of the few times she had a hard time reading him. Maybe he was angry? That seemed even more likely when he slapped his palm against the counter muttering. "My disappointment in people seems to be spreading."

Rinoa bowed her head, positive that was directed at her. He was angry. Of course he would be, she just admitted that she well-overstepped her boundaries. Right now, Seifer wasn't alone – Rinoa was angry at herself.

Turning his back, Seifer reached for the earlier pan and pulled out the three pinecones. As he placed them back in the bowl, he looked directly at her. "If this is going to work, we really need to work on communication. All of us."

"Sorry." She quickly broke eye contact and her gaze drifted to the counter.

It bothered him – _he_ was the cause of this. He pictured the tears in her eyes because her voice not only echoed their sadness, but screamed it. This was the point where his words had failed – he was treading water in a strangely unfamiliar territory. Because he _wanted_ to explain that he wasn't upset with her; he _wanted_ to say that his anger stemmed from Fed-Boy's definition of open and honest communication. The 'disappointment' comment had been directed towards the Quistis-Squall relationship deception and how the agent was intentionally misleading her. Seifer was caught in the middle. He wanted to protect Rinoa, as a friend, not a witness, but his current choices were either lying to her or letting her get hurt. There was no way for any of them to come out of this a winner.

"Promise, the comment wasn't directed at you. It's everything, the situation as a whole…I think we're just three people that have varying views about life. Of course, as stated earlier, I'm awesome, so my view is always right. The quicker you two dolts get that through your head, the happier we'll all be."

"Dolts? Really?"

"For Leonhart's sake, trying to sound all Deling elite, Upper East Side and all that. Did it work?"

"Yes, like an embedded-crystal charm," she replied with a bite of over-the-top sarcasm.

"I'll ignore the obvious sarcasm, only because Charming _is_ my middle name. Many of the clueless masses believe that it's Awesome…that's technically part of my first as my parents had the foresight to hyphenate."

"Seifer-Awesome Charming Almasy?" She picked up the pinecone on the counter. "I honestly think I just got a little sick in my mouth."

"That's Detective Seifer-Awesome Charming Almasy to you miss."

When he turned back to the dishes, she seized the opportunity. With a faint laugh, she expertly flicked the pinecone at him, hitting him on his rear end.

"You are a little minx, aren't you? You just can't keep your cones off my butt."

Rinoa was going to do her best to capitalize on the whole innocence factor. Mimicking one of his trademark smirks, she cooed sweetly. "I believe you're mistaken, officer. I'd _never_ do that to a respected man of the law. You'll find that the culprit wasn't me, but rather Squall." Committing to her role, she batted her eyelashes sweetly as she pointed to the remaining pinecones. "I'd be careful since I hear he has four identical brothers."

He picked up the pinecone, eyeing it suspiciously. "Damn it Leonhart, I told you to keep your conifers to yourself - I don't pollinate that way."

At that point, they were both distracted by the mechanical click of the door's tumbler and so the duo turned towards the sound. Rinoa had temporarily lost sight of Seifer, momentarily catching him in her peripheral vision a few seconds later. Expected or not, it was those seconds of the unknown that had been debilitating.

Finally, when she saw the unmistakable unruliness of Agent Leonhart's hair, Rinoa could breathe again. Not only could she breathe, she was also able to fall into a hysterical fit of laughter. It was literally like her brain had paused the moment it heard the door but, now that the coast had cleared, Seifer's pinecone double entendres were all she thought about. It seemed that Almasy wasn't far behind as he too was laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Agent Leonhart had a good idea that whatever their 'bonding' had entailed, it had been at his expense. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of acknowledging their juvenile behavior or being the butt of their jokes. He normally masked his feelings, but he didn't care how disgusted he came off as right now. Seifer had moved protectively beside her, obviously to play bodyguard from the big, bad, FBI agent who was _, as novel a concept as it seemed,_ trying to do his job. At first, he refused to say anything as he walked in but, as he set the first aid kid on the counter, he raised a suspicious eyebrow in their direction.

"I don't want to know what I missed." He believed that was the truth but, if it was, why would the words come out of his mouth in the first place? He knew exactly what they'd lead to – an answer.

"Oh, you know you _so_ do," Seifer countered, making sure that it was evident to all parties present that the agent's bluff was being called. Tossing the pinecone back to his cohort, the detective couldn't help the enormous smirk as it spread across his face. After the 'Squall-cone' rejoined his decorative brothers in the bowl, Seifer refocused his attention on the agent. He had been momentarily distracted by the man standing behind him – _that_ looked like an interesting story but annoying Leonhart came first before moving on to Fed-Boy 2.0.

"Turns out your witness is quite the little minx. The second I turned my back, she couldn't keep her cones off my ass."

Seifer grinned like a Cheshire cat. In his 'humble' opinion, he was an artist and he'd just created the perfect recipe. He answered Squall's question with a near-flawless retort and outstanding execution. Not only that, the barb was impeccably crafted - the perfect blend of insinuation and innuendo. And, like the Executive Verbal Chef he was, he seasoned it with just a dash of scientific authenticity - public service was his spice of life after all. Then, he took the perfection, placed it into a hypothetical oven, and then expertly calculated the formula for the maximum level of Federal irritation.

Screw all of that – it was all about the ass. His ass.

The expression on Squall's face when he'd mentioned that Rinoa had touched his butt had been utterly priceless. True, said touch may have only happened through the transient property, but he wasn't going to quibble details.

To everyone's surprise, it was Rinoa who responded first. "Seifer, you are such an ass."

…See, he _knew_ it was all about the ass.

Shaking her head, Rinoa stood from the bar stool and walked toward the doorway. It was obvious that the 'trio of _dolts'_ weren't capable of proper introductions while trying to one-up each other on the manliness scale. Right as she started to open her mouth, Agent Leonhart had surprisingly beaten her to the punch. It caught her off guard as she didn't expect him of all people to play the role of host.

"Agent Zell Dincht, Rinoa Heartilly." He nodded towards her at the exchange.

Rinoa smiled. This time there had been nothing forced about it. Not only had Agent Leonhart used Heartilly, he'd completely ignored the Caraway aspect – much as she'd done since her teenage years. Maybe she was reading too much into it, but any small victory meant something. Plus, the other agent had obviously been privy to all her personal information anyway; honestly, the bureau's files probably contained more information about her than she knew about herself.

Still, she'd mark this off as a 'W' in the win column and leave it at that.

"Pleasure to meet you." The newest member of the Adel Garden crew extended his hand to his loft-mates.

Accepting the gesture, Rinoa's smile remained sincere, but she had to admit that it was masking her curiosity. Mentally, she had to size up any individual that braved having Agent Leonhart as a partner. "It's a pleasure to meet you too."

Rinoa knew that there was no way she was alone in her curiosity; this became even more evident when Seifer joined in their impromptu love-fest. As he extended his hand, Rinoa believed that he didn't sound anything like himself, especially when this involved forcibly continuing this round of pleasantries.

"Detective Seifer Almasy – narcotics. Thanks for setting this all up, we were in bind. I'm extremely grateful the bureau was able to secure a site with such short notice."

Rinoa was side-eying Detective Awesome so hard. He didn't sound at all like himself. Sure, she knew that he, like most people in his position, were often forced to switch between two personas depending what the situation called for, but this….this was off.

"Agent Dincht." They exchanged a firm handshake. "Also, it's no problem at all, always glad to be of assistance. I've spent so much time behind a desk lately, it comes as a culture shock to get out of the cubicle."

It seemed that Rinoa wasn't the only one who could smell the bullshit. She had glanced over towards Leonhart and, although his expression appeared to be stanch, she swore he'd rolled his eyes at one point.

He caught her looking out of the corner of his eye. His first instinct had been to let it go; people had the bothersome habit of doing that, but he needed to make sure everything was all right. Hopefully, she would put his words behind them. He stood behind them, he wouldn't deny that, but there had been a time and a place for it – the way he'd gone about it didn't fall into those guidelines. Honestly, it made it easier if Heartilly was the cooperative version of herself, rather than the stubborn, irritating, infuriating version; he'd had the _pleasure_ of meeting said version more than once.

"While you two work out the details, I need a moment to speak with Heartilly."

Squall could've sworn both men looked at him with the same confused expression but, given the motley crew he was dealing with, it came as no real surprise that they were lost.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Seifer answered through gritted teeth as he turned towards the new agent. "Why don't we walk the perimeter of the apartment? I'll give Agent Dincht the standardized 'apartment briefing' that you denied Miss Heartilly."

"Apartment briefing?" Zell raised a questioning eyebrow, although the 'questioning' aspect was far from a mystery. Then it clicked. "Oh, a Squall-ism. Have you received your binder yet?"

Zell asked the question as they walked up the stairs. Seifer was playing along, laughing as if he found it humorous as he lagged behind. Then mid-laugh, he looked down directly at Squall. The agent saw it - Almasy was issuing a silent warning. It had happened so quickly, that if he'd blinked at that precise second, it may have missed it.

"That was…" Rinoa began as she stared at the empty flight of stairs.

"Painful." Squall easily filled in the blank for her.

An errant laugh escaped as she studied the agent and smiled thoughtfully. "They're so not going to get along, are they?"

"Not even close." She saw something on his face…the slightest, smallest, most infinitesimal, trace of smile. "God help us if we're the normal ones."


	19. Leave You in Stitches…

_October 11th 4:33pm_

Rinoa continued to look at Agent Leonhart, thankful that he'd been too preoccupied to notice though surprised by how oddly engrossed he'd been in the loft's upper level. Honestly, she couldn't recall him intently staring at something that wasn't human and didn't say or do something that annoyed him, which basically meant she saw that look a lot and that inanimate objects, in theory, shouldn't have. From what she could tell, Agent Dincht and Seifer had stepped completely out of view. Well, technically just hers. Leonhart was a _little_ taller – four inches according to his driver's license, five if she wanted to be generous enough to round up like he did.

Height differential and Leonhart's denial aside, the other two men had disappeared from view so she wasn't exactly positive on what he was expecting. It obviously had to be _something_ and given his intensity, she doubted it was something good. Using that theory, she ruled out the likelihood of Almasy and Dincht planning a surprise birthday party for their favorite federal agent of choice. That left her with thoughts of something a little more…bleak. Maybe something along the lines of minor bloodshed and a full-fledged war?

But, so far, all had remained peaceful on the home front, or rather loft front - maybe she was reading into something that wasn't there. It was about then that she realized that this whole time, while he stared at the stairway, she'd stared at him. Seriously…she really needed to stop staring at his staring. No really, there were far too many stairs and stares at play here. Not to mention, getting caught would be a really, really bad idea. And Rinoa had become somewhat of a virtuoso when it came to bad ideas over the years.

See, she proved Caraway wrong. She had discovered something that she excelled in and then refused to stop until she held the coveted title of 'expert.' Gaining the status of expert in bad ideas was sort of how she found her way here in the first place…and why she was staring at him in the second place.

She couldn't say _why_ she was so fascinated with him. None of this was like her, but the situation she found herself in was far from normal… Despite the circumstances lacking it, the word 'normal' seemed to resonate with her - there had to be something to it. Maybe it had been the banter between her and the agent or something to do with the way he currently looked – tired, exhausted, in need of a shave, clothes looking slightly unkempt. For once, he didn't look like he'd stepped directly out of one of those up-scale magazines her father subscribed to – he looked almost normal.

_Normal?_ Did she just seriously think that man looked normal? Maybe she was need of further medical attention beyond her arm; maybe she should be checked for some sort of third degree concussion. Okay she knew there were no such things as 'third degree concussions' as it wasn't a burn. Either way, a regular concussion wouldn't suffice for the atrocity she'd committed because the words 'Squall Leonhart' and 'normal' should be nowhere in the same sentence - hell, the same paragraph. Seriously, one would have to be blind, or Seifer, not to see that the man oozed gorgeous and that…

Oh shit.

" _No. No. No…just no,"_ she mentally chastised herself. She turned to look at the glass-top coffee table as it seemed a relatively safe focal point. With a few magazines spread out, she could at least act as if they had attracted her interest.

It damn well beat the alternative because having thoughts like that – _about him_ – was a bad idea, actually the king of bad ideas. It would make being around him a thousand times more uncomfortable than it already was. Admittedly, she'd thought he was attractive all along, but not exactly to this extent. She needed to move past these thoughts, nothing like this had ever happened to her so she was definitely in unchartered territory. It probably had to do with the situation, she'd heard about things like that before; it was the same theory as a patient falling for the nurse or doctor that took care of them. So, maybe if she ignored it, went on with her daily routine, she could… great, just great, what daily routine? Her plan already had a flaw in it and it was only two seconds old. Her daily routine currently consisted of watching television, eating junk food, and watching Seifer knock pixilated Cactuars with Disgruntled Chocobos.

And lest she not forget, the highlight thus far - Seifer's pinecones, his feats of daring do, and his inexplicable _obsession_ with his ass.

Now _that_ was a picture she'd like to scrub from her mind.

All that aside, she did need to remember why she was here and it wasn't to ogle the federal agent - the federal agent with a gorgeous drop-dead girlfriend no less…again, very, very bad idea.

But she could do this, she would help find who did this to Zone and Watts; she didn't know how, but she would. Her father may not believe in her, but Zone always had. No matter his faults, and yes, they were major ones, he'd been an amazing support system. He had been the only one to ever believe in her or to say that she had a good head on her shoulders. He told her to believe in herself, that titles were meaningless, and not to hide the person she was inside…even if her ideas sometimes didn't go as planned.

So, maybe it was better not to hide and admit the truth, if only to herself, and maybe it would keep the lies from piling up in her mind. Testing out that theory, she made herself concede that Agent Leonhart was…well, she'd go with 'pleasant to look at.' Very, very pleasant. Damn it.

"So, would you like the tour now or would you prefer to stand here and stare?"

Rinoa felt her entire face flush. "Sorry…was just thinking." As an afterthought she added, "I was looking at the magazines."

"Whatever."

"Really!" She tried to defend herself - she _was_ looking at them… _after_ she stared at him, but in this case, she wasn't one to quibble about technicalities.

Thankfully, he dropped it, but she knew he'd been caught. She knew that she should thank her lucky Chocobos that he'd he didn't question her further, although he probably didn't want to hear the truth as much as she didn't want to spill it – maybe even more so. The smart thing would've been to drop it, to take the tour and be quiet. Then again, she didn't earn her 'queen of bad ideas' crown by allowing logic to dictate her choices.

"So…" Abort. Abort. Abort. Don't do it. "What were _you_ staring at?"

Damn.

It seemed that he was equally as taken aback with her brazen question _considering._ Folding his arms, he looked at her in incredulity. "Seriously?"

For some reason, she decided to stand her ground, which was strangely odd behavior considering. So she mimicked his stance, folding her arms and his general posturing.

"Yes, _seriously_." She'd placed so much emphasis on the word that each syllable came out a little louder than the last.

Rinoa wasn't an expert in body language but when he moved his arms to his sides, it looked like he did so in defeat. Okay, so maybe defeat wasn't the right word here – perhaps he was simply picking and choosing battles, figuring that the only way to survive the war was to appease her.

"Fine. Whatever it takes to shut you the hell up."

Rinoa flinched. He sounded so angry. That hadn't been her intent, then again she had no idea what her intent had been…to show him she wasn't some weakling? To stand up to him? Whatever the case was, all it ended up being was another harsh lesson of reality.

But no matter how ugly and unpleasant it was, she needed to stare it in the eyes – gorgeous blue eyes… Yep. Still bad. Thoughts like that were _not_ helping. The truth was that she wanted to learn a little more about him, the way his mind worked, his thought processes. She was enthralled with him, it was true. Worse yet, Agent Trepe had become extremely aware of this; honestly, it was almost as if she'd caught on before Rinoa had.

She couldn't explain it, but he fascinated her from the moment he walked over to the ambulance. He irritated her, annoyed her, pissed her off, belittled her – the list was endless. Honestly, Rinoa couldn't recall a time when she'd been mesmerized just being in someone's presence. She had grown up into an affluent life; she had spent time with Deling's social elite. Caraway had rubbed elbows with politicians. Galbadia's hottest and most sought-after actors and entertainers were no strangers to the mansion for political parties and fundraisers. She'd been no stranger to celebrity and yet this was new. But it's what she saw in him. The moments in-between, the fleeting glimpses into his humanity that she had to believe that it wasn't something everyone was privy to.

…And there she went again with her imagination filling in blanks with words that weren't there. Apparently, her brain had the lofty aspirations of transforming her situation into a living Mad Lib. She exerted far too much time and energy removing all the negative adjectives, replacing them with whatever gave things a positive spin. There were so many downsides to this, too many to list, but it was frightening how quickly she'd placed him on some sort of pedestal. She had to work through this, maybe talk to Seifer…and god help her if he'd really become her best option at sanity.

"It seems you found a backbone while I was downstairs."

Wow…that was uncalled for.

But unlike him, she hadn't unfolded her arms and actually had no intention to do so. She was trying to think of how to respond, but then something snapped and she tried something novel, honesty. She didn't yell, but her words were firm.

"That was uncalled for. And speaking of uncalled for, I think your comments before you went downstairs were extremely uncalled for. And yes, maybe I was staring at you, because I just don't understand how one person can seem so spiteful towards a situation." …So maybe it wasn't one hundred percent honest, but maybe 'close enough' counted here. "..Or how you can seem to think that I want to be here while conveniently forgetting about what I went through? Since you had the audacity to say this was your hell, I'll return the favor by reminding you that it's not - it's your goddamned job. I can't do this with you - I can't keep fighting and then trying to work things out. I thought we'd come to an agreement… I thought…I don't know what I think anymore…nothing makes sense."

She had no idea when, but somewhere during her rant, the tears had begun to fall again. Just when she thought she was all cried out, he proved her wrong. It always seemed to be around him, around the way he turned her into an emotional mess as he kept on finding new ways to push her buttons.

Then something unbelievable weird happened. As in weird-weird. If _weird_ and _strange_ had an illegitimate love child, this may have been it. Then again, that statement could qualify as a little 'weird' to some.

He stepped forward, although it was hesitant, but he reached out a hand and patted her on the back. It could almost be described as a loose hug, if he'd taken one more step they would've been touching. She could tell that he was wholly-uncomfortable and all honesty, she was too, but it wasn't a bad sort of uncomfortable – it was almost a nice uncomfortable. Yeah…weird.

"You always had a backbone. …That was uncalled for so were the other things I said."

He quickly retracted his hand. She could tell that he was unsure of what to do next, he was probably unsure of why he'd just done that – she must've looked that pathetic. He didn't apologize directly, but he acknowledged it. Then, just as quickly, he seemed to snap back to his normal self - maybe he had momentarily possessed by a ghost of compassion.

…Clearly it was the only explanation that made sense.

"You remind me of my sister. We sparred like this."

…And again, they'd circled back into weird. Rinoa didn't know why, but there was something disheartening about him comparing her to his sister. Zone and Watts said she was like their sister, and most every guy she'd ever met thought of her that way. In the case of Zone and Watts, she was glad about that – they were like brothers, well, Zone was…in hindsight, she realized now she didn't really know anything about Watts. But it was that familiar sting, the one she felt as a teenager with other guys - the ones who would confide in her and then ask her to set them up with their best friend. It was hard. Hearing that from him, she almost wanted to cry again. It also explained why he'd let his guard down at times, because of who she must have reminded him of. It wasn't his fault this time - this one was all on her. Here Leonhart was, actually extending an olive branch and she still was upset.

She forced a smile. "Oh, I never had a brother or sister…so I wouldn't know. Then again it's pointless to tell you, it's in my file."

"I was waiting."

"I'm sorry?" She had already dried her eyes. It hadn't been like before, just a momentary relapse brought on by stark reality.

"You asked, I'm telling you – that's why I was staring upstairs. I was waiting for whatever is going to happen to happen."

There was a hint of a laugh. "That's a little…cryptic."

"Almasy is a little cryptic and Dincht is a little irritating."

"Isn't _everyone_ irritating to you?"

"You're catching on." Again, she swore that he had that thinly-veiled hint of a smile from earlier.

"So Agent Leonhart, while we're waiting for whatever we're waiting for to happen…which will be whenever whatever happens, should we start the apartment briefing?"

"Whatever," they spoke in unison. She had to laugh but he didn't appear nearly as amused.

"I'm still not sure what you expect of me. But since you're the princess, I'll follow your orders."

She ignored the obvious sarcasm. One step forward, two steps back, but one of these days, she was going to turn that around to two steps forward one step back.

"It's not an order; I just thought it would be nice not to be alone when I got acquainted with the place. When I was kid, I was always alone…I wasn't like you and didn't have a sister to share new places with, I had nannies paid to take of me." She stopped suddenly, realizing just how pathetic all this was coming across, given her situation. She looked down to her hands. In that minute, she was actually ashamed to face him. "…Wow, twenty years and not one thing has changed, has it? I'm still alone and someone is still being paid to take care of me."

Squall hated people who used guilt as a weapon. They certainly knew shit about him as a person if they believed that tactic would work; it wasn't something that he gave into. But there was a difference between malicious intent and genuine pain however. Even though she'd used it in the past, he could tell by her crestfallen expression that it was real. He'd go along with it, begrudgingly but, he had made the offer so that was on him.

That headache from earlier wasn't helping his mood. "You're standing in the living area."

She looked up and somehow she knew that this was something to appease her. At this point, she should've followed through on her word and gone alone, but she didn't want to be alone. It was pathetic, she was pathetic, but even paid company was better than nothing.

"Feel free to look at the magazines – since we're already aware that they garnered your attention before. I'm sure they're fascinating, really."

She swallowed nervously, but nodded.

Singling for her to stay back, he walked towards the windows. "Throughout the loft, the binds and curtains – any window covering whatsoever - are to remain closed at all times. You will _not_ look out them to see the sights, check the weather, or to try to look at the stars. Got it?"

"Look at the stars?" she questioned. That was her favorite thing in the world, she wondered if that was in her file somewhere.

"Just a guess, you seem like that sort of person."

"You mean head in the clouds, not in reality?" She was a little offended, especially if he'd made the comment knowing that tidbit about her. Then again, he did state it was a guess. Maybe it was just a lucky shot in the dark and wasn't listed in her file; it wasn't a dating profile after all.

"Your words, not mine. _Moving on_." The subject was abruptly dropped as he took a few steps away from the curtains. "Pretend this is an invisible line. Don't cross it. I'd like to have you further away, but I'm working with what I got. This is the tallest building around, so I'm taking that into account. From the angle of the nearest building, this should be a safe distance. Remain further away, if possible. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." She saluted him as she had momentary flashback to _Rinoa's childhood versus the Galbadian General_. Hint: she _never_ even won a small battle in that war.

"Not funny."

"Moving on," she said, mimicking his words.

" _Yes, sir_."

He'd followed suit, Galbadian salute and all, but with a thin undertone of malice. She couldn't say why, but it almost seemed like a kneejerk reaction to being mocked. That seemed…well, they were back to weird for the umpteenth time in ten minutes. She'd meant her comment as a playful way of changing topics, but she had to remember her audience here. She wasn't with Seifer who you could basically insult to his face and he'd pat you on the back for the awesome putdown.

"Over there is the kitchen. It's fully-stocked with a wide array of pots and pans at your disposal. There are no limitations there besides not burning the place down. I thought it went without saying but throwing pinecones is also frowned upon."

Biting her lip, she looked towards the kitchen sheepishly. There sat Squallcone back there with all his brothers in arms. "Sorry."

"Do you cook? If so, Zell will be in charge of restocking and getting food. Give all your requests or dietary needs to him."

"No, I don't…Zone and I never had the money to get fresh stuff, but I can make a mean microwave pizza."

Squall thought about that quip for a minute. Part of him wanted to comment on the fact that if Zone was dealing, he was fairly bad at his job, but knew better. Plus if he was low-level, it was widely accepted that it usually worked out to less than what the standard wage was. He would've been better off working at the corner market but… these facts raised more questions than they answered – no federal agency would waste its time and resources on someone that far down the chain.

"I'll have him get you a few cookbooks. Might as well take this time to learn."

That was sweet…she thought. Or maybe it was a backhanded compliment. It was hard to tell with him. The optimistic side of her decided it would go with the latter.

"I'd like that."

He looked at her a second trying to figure her out, but decided against it – attempting to figure women out, specifically trying to figure _her_ out, was a challenge that he had no interest in accepting.

"So, what's over there?" She pointed to a door just below the stairway.

"It's a laundry room."

"Wow, you make me this so fun. It's not that I'm not appreciative, I am…but thought maybe you'd make it a tad more interesting."

He wondered if she could possibly be serious here. What did she want from him? It was a converted one-bedroom loft in an old factory or warehouse; it wasn't like he was showing her around a college campus.

"Whatever," he grumbled, walking over to the room and opening it. She followed him, but made sure to keep her distance. When would she learn that provoking him was, yes, not shockingly, a bad idea?

"Here is another room with no limitations – there are no windows so it's secure from that aspect. We'll make sure to get you some laundry soap then you can wash and dry to your heart's content." He stood inside, pointing to shelves. "Also, cleaning supplies and a vacuum - knock your socks off…and then you can wash them again."

Yep. Bad idea. The gorgeous that had been oozing from him had now been momentarily replaced by irritation as his words dripped with sarcasm.

Throwing her hands up in defeat, she'd given up. "I surrender. I have no idea on what planet I thought this would be a good idea. I'd wave a white flag, but then I'd have to wash it."

"No, no, I really do need to walk you through a few things like the windows. It's just this part seems unnecessary."

"Meet you in the middle? Hit the highlights and I'll figure out the rest on my own?" She shrugged, putting her hands down after still having them up from her momentary surrender.

"Fair enough, but there really isn't anything else. I did want to mention the robe you brought with you from the hotel. If you remember to give it to me, I'll see what I can do with the blood stains. I've had more than my fair share of trying to get it out of clothes. I can't promise a miracle, but it should at least be wearable around the apartment."

By then he had dropped the sarcasm, actually coming across as sincere. That being said, there was something about the way he talked about removing blood from clothing that came across as chilling.

"It really isn't that big. The upstairs has a small sitting area and then the bedroom. The same goes up there. The bed is against the wall, so don't really go wandering around. There's a full bathroom up there. Oh-" he stopped and closed the door to the laundry area, opening the one beside it. "Here's a half-bath, but since it's situated so close to the window, I'd prefer you using the one upstairs. I know it's a little bit more of a walk but-"

She waved her hand, understanding completely. "No, I get it, I get it. It's not a problem. I'll probably be glad for the exercise."

"That's the loft. Certainly not worth the wait, you can see most from here. If you-"

"You're a wuss!" Seifer's voice was loud as he stomped out of the bedroom. "Seriously, a goddamn chicken."

Rinoa flinched. The outburst had taken her slightly aback and, in her current situation, she felt a tad skittish around sudden loud noises. Without realizing what she was doing, she'd taken a step closer to Squall.

"That's _not_ what happened!" Zell shot back, trailing a few steps behind. "Talk about overreacting."

Glancing over her shoulder, Rinoa looked at Squall, mouthing the words so nobody else could hear. "Is whatever's happening what you were waiting for to happen?"

He nodded slightly. She'd actually lost him, but he had at least managed to decipher the gist of it which, with her, was half of the battle.

"Don't even," Seifer warned as he continued walking toward where Rinoa and Squall stood at the base of the stairs. "I didn't even think it was possible for feds to be so chicken or so wussy. Don't you have to pass some sort of tests or something that weed out the poultry-blooded? Sure you're FBI and not Homeland - at least that makes a little more sense."

"You're just bitter. Accept it, and then get over it."

Like the highly-trained professional he was, Squall had expertly decided to stay as far out of their… well, whatever the hell it was, god only knows with those two. If only Heartilly had taken the cue and followed his lead.

"Is everything all right?"

Squall wanted to smack his head.

The answer to 'is everything all right' seemed fairly self-evident. No, apparently it was lost on her. The biggest problem, in his opinion, wasn't with the disagreement between Thing 1 and Thing 2 - it was the fact that he was the only sane one between them.

"No, it's not 'all right'." Seifer made air quotes with his fingers, exacerbating the situation further by moving them directly in front of Agent Dincht's face.

"Don't," Zell stated calmly, "Please kindly refrain from doing that."

"Are you shitting me? I mean, seriously shitting me? _That's_ your response? Why don't you _kindly_ go step on pinecone? Seriously, you are the wussiest, wuss of a chicken wuss that I've ever met. Henceforth, I dub thee Agent Chicken-Wuss." Seifer turned towards Squall with a lopsided grin. "Got off pretty easy, didn't you Fed-Boy? Give it time…consider this a _friendly_ warning." Suggestively, he winked at Rinoa, hoping that Leonhart wasn't thickheaded enough to miss the damn clue.

Of course, Rinoa just wrote it off as Seifer being Seifer. Her main concern had been keeping the peace… Well, as much 'peace' one could achieve given their current dynamics.

"Detective Almasy and Agent Dincht, is it?" She smiled, looking towards the newest edition to their team… a _dysfunctional_ team, but a team nonetheless.

"It's Zell. Call me Zell."

"No. It's Chicken-Wuss, don't forget it. Cock-a-doodle **-** Dodo bird **."**

Rinoa did her best to keep her composure as she let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sure that whatever happened between you two was a simple misunderstanding." Her smile felt plastered on; she wasn't in the mood for this, but someone had to play mediator. Even still, she had the foresight to distance herself, taking yet another step closer to Agent Leonhart. That was definitely the safest option in the semi-unlikely, but somewhat- _maybe_ -possible case that fists, or the rare pinecone, began to fly.

Either her bad ideas had suddenly learned to speak or Agent Leonhart was trying to give her advice. _"Don't."_

"Um…" She began slowly, the advice she'd been given was slowly registering. "Nothing." She shook her head, relinquishing her short-lived role as referee.

"Fine." Seifer began, donning a very taunting smirk. "I'll let you decide. Each year, all the major agencies have a 'friendly' game of softball and Chicken-Wuss here-"

"Sports? This is about _sports_?" Rinoa was flabbergasted, somehow that had been the furthest thing from her mind, yet given the players, there was a sort of poetic correctness about it.

"It's not about sports, it's about principles, not being blind…and having the balls to do what's right, but given it was _soft_ ball, it makes-"

This time it was Zell who interrupted before Seifer finished his thought. "Detective Almasy is bitter because I was head umpire and Homeland-"

" _Fssh,"_ Seifer scoffed, waving his arm, "Bunch of stick-up-their-fu-"

"Get over it. Both of you," Squall cut in. While he wasn't yelling, his firm voice told the story. "I was about to show Miss Heartilly the upstairs."

She was surprised when she felt his hand on the small of her back. He was urging her to move forward and up the stairs. She let out a surprised yelp at the contact but obliged soon after. "Oh, right, right…yeah, the upstairs. That will give-"

" _Shhh,"_ Leonhart cautioned as his pressure slightly increased. "Go."

She didn't even look back as they walked up the stairs. He'd removed his hand by the time they'd reached the second step. There was a landing at the top with a small settee and table, enough for small sitting area there. She had slowed but, without exchanging a word, he signaled her to continue onto the bedroom.

Once inside, she turned to him with a knowing smile. "I thought the upstairs was unnecessary?"

"Lesser of two evils," he deadpanned.

"I'm flattered…or offended."

"Try both. It's easier that way."

He noticed the first aid supplies were in there – something he hadn't expected. To him, the logical thing would've been to have it downstairs, but then he figured that Zell may not know how well she dealt with needles or pain; Squall had been around far too many people who passed out at the sight of blood or the prick of a needle, so maybe this was for the best.

"Sit on the bed, let's get this over with."

Her eyes widened in horror as she saw him reach for the kit on the nightstand. At that point, she began randomly stammering, making about as much sense as the argument transpiring downstairs. "Wait, no! Wasn't this…and…you? But warning…no warning and-"

Going into the bathroom, he grabbed some towels and a glass of water. "Consider this your warning."

He placed all the pillows on the queen size bed onto the right side and motioned her to sit, resting straight against the headboard. "I don't like repeating myself. Sit."

"But, but…"

"Detective Almasy isn't here."

That confused her. "…What?"

"You said butt – one can assume you're asking for Seifer."

"Oh my god, is that a joke?"

"It's a fact. Take it as you will…and you're still not sitting. I _will_ make you."

She knew that she'd reached the end of the road here as there was no were else to run. She really wasn't looking forward to it, but she did trust Agent Leonhart. And so, she complied with his demand, albeit begrudgingly. He moved a nearby chair over to the side of the bed and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. After he got himself situated, he moved on to her, reaching for her arm to position it in the light. By then, he slowly started to unwrap the bandages.

"Are you fucking serious? You're alone with her five minutes and you get her into bed? I'm either offended or impressed. Spoiler alert…the answer _isn'_ t impressed."

"I'm not going to do this with you barking in my ear," Squall shot back, looking at Seifer in the doorway.

"Woof," Seifer rebuked dryly as he jumped on the free side of the bed.

Squall then turned to his patient. "This is our fault - we said his name three times."

Even as nervous as she was, she had to giggle at the obvious reference to earlier. On a personal level, she couldn't decide if she was glad to see Seifer or not. At least he could keep her mind off the subjects it certainly shouldn't be on.

Or maybe he'd just make it worse. "So, Doc-Boy the patient ready for surgery?"

Rinoa groaned as her head fell back against the headboard. She looked up at the ceiling asking, "Must you?"

"Yes, _must you_?" Squall parroted as he placed all the bandages in the trash.

"I must. I _soooo_ must."

Nobody engaged him further for their own sanity. Rinoa then made the gigantic, enormous, _larger-than-Seifer's-ego_ mistake of looking at what the agent was doing. He'd just grabbed a needle from the box, setting it on the nightstand until it was time. Of course, it hadn't been standard issue for a first aid kit, but Squall had put in a special requests. That was one of the reasons he'd waited to do this until Dincht showed up.

Rinoa winced as he began cleaning the wound; it was just alcohol, or whatever disinfectant he was using, but it reminded her of when Zone had pierced her ears. That was an experience she'd care not to duplicate as they ended up infected… _not_ the type of memory she needed resurfacing. She had to remind herself that Agent Leonhart was competent when it came to things like this, unlike her friend…and admittedly _her_ for being naive enough to allow Zone to use her as pin cushion.

"Here." Seifer grabbed her right hand. She wasn't going to refuse the offer as she'd already begun to shake. Still, she was doing her damndest not to look as scared as she was.

"It's just a local. There will be a slight prick."

Seifer's laughter echoed through the bedroom as he slapped his leg with his free hand. "Fed-boy, you make it so damn easy. You know that right?"

"Seriously. Shut up."

Rinoa glanced after he said that. Bad idea. There had been a cover to the needle and since his hands were both busy, he used his mouth to remove the cover. He then spit out the plastic tip as he moved his hand to her arm. She knew better than to look down, but she became fascinated by him all over again. It was obvious he'd done this before so it naturally made her wonder about all he'd gone through and all he'd seen – and with all that experience now he was playing babysitter… When she realized everything was being wasted on her, she could finally understand his anger. If she was in his shoes, she wouldn't want to be here either.

There was only a slight wince, it wasn't as bad as she'd thought, although that was only step one. Carefully, he wrapped up the needle and placed it with the other trash.

"Give it a few minutes." He then reached for the water he brought handing it to her. She let go of Seifer's hand and gave him a pitiable smile as she took it from him.

"Thanks."

"Mmm," he responded as he waited for her to finish before setting it back down.

"You're doing great," Seifer grabbed her hand again, "Now you're going to do your imitation of a human pin cushion."

"Not helping." Was Seifer some sort of mind reader? Did he really have to use _that_ term? It brought about another sudden flashback to her infected ears…that wasn't helping. "Jerk," she muttered under her breath although it was semi-jokingly.

Chuckling softly, he took one of the pillows, situating it directly behind her head. She leaned back as she closed her eyes. Her only focus had become her breathing. She heard sounds next to her, but didn't want to look. A few minutes past, and she could feel some difference as he repositioned her arm.

"Ready?" Agent Leonhart's voice broke the silence – a rare occurrence given the company.

"Oh sure, why not." She probably sounded as defeated as she felt.

As his fingers brushed against her skin she became very aware. There was no logical explanation for it - she couldn't feel pain, but she was able to distinguish the pressure. The rest was filled in by memory, the way he gently held her arm back at the police station. She'd stop to think about how pathetic she was, but being pathetic edged out being a wimp. If her mind processed what was happening too much, she'd probably go into a state of shock. Even if she didn't have a deathly fear of needles, she quickly distinguished the difference between getting a shot and having stitches.

Even as she thought the word, her body tensed and she was abruptly given a stern reminder to relax. Rinoa continued to think about anything besides _this_ and _that_ …and well, the _other_ , of course, which one was which was up to debate. So, in the end, her thoughts drifted to being at the beach at night, laying on the sand with her friends and looking at the stars. Back in Galbadia, before she left, she had snuck out with a few of the newly-enlisted men. At the time, she was seventeen, and they were nineteen and she felt so brave. They ended up at the beach, and no matter how much trouble she ended up in, she felt free that night.

Aside from taking a few sips from the boys' beers, nothing happened – it was still liberating. That evening was the catalyst to her leaving with the freedoms found in the night sky forever etched in her memories.

The stars gave her peace; she felt safe beneath them.

"There."

She opened her eyes and looked towards Squall. At first, she only saw the top of his head as he finished covering the wound.

"Keep it covered for the first 24-48 hours or when bathing, but let it air after that."

"Thanks," she whispered.

"Mmm," he replied, seemingly uninterested.

"I guess you don't suck at something." Seifer, who had been unusually quiet, finally said something.

"You've had training, haven't you?"

"Enough," Squall replied as he finished putting everything away. "Need water?"

"…Sure."

Honestly, Rinoa felt silly. She wasn't honestly that thirsty, but she found that she couldn't refuse the offer. Pathetic didn't even cover it. She reached out with her good hand, taking the glass. This time, her fingers accidently brushed against his and she nearly dropped the whole thing. It took her a second to recompose herself, but somehow she managed, mumbling some sort of half-baked apology. When she was finished drinking, she decided it was best to reach over and set it on the nightstand herself.

"I think we need to go downstairs and talk with Chicken-Wuss and come up with a plan of attack. I know Fed-Boy and I both could use a little sleep."

"I'm staying with Agent Dincht?" She knew her feelings were unfair as both men were tired because of her, but she didn't know the agent downstairs – it was like being left with a stranger all over again. Then again, the two men with her were strangers not too long ago.

"You'll be fine. The guy's just a shit umpire, but he's probably a decent Fed…or decent- _ish_."

"Come on." Agent Leonhart took the lead, standing up and brushing himself off. He seemed to be debating something, before finally extending a hand to her. "Need a hand?"

No. No, she didn't but, as she realized earlier, when speaking to him, 'no' had become strangely absent from her vocabulary. Sitting up, she swung her legs over and then grabbed his arm. She purposely kept her eyes off of him as she stood up. Seifer began a fake cough, before it turned into an outright gag – obviously his commentary on Agent Leonhart's random act of, well, what could only be described as chivalry.

From there, the three made their way downstairs. Zell was leaning on the counter talking on a mobile phone. They couldn't hear much of the conversation, besides a several 'uh-huhs' and 'okays' as it appeared to be fairly one-sided. He held up a finger, letting them know he'd be a second longer. Rinoa took a seat at the counter she'd used before. Seifer walked onto the kitchen side of the counter and handed her a pinecone with a wink. She smiled as they shared a knowing glance. She was about to put it down, but decided it was better to have something occupying her hands.

Zell was finally off the call and then turned apologetically at the group. Seifer was still busying himself in the kitchen, while Agent Leonhart was leaning impatiently against the wall.

"Supplies will be here shortly. I'm hoping the clothes fit all right; the only description I had to go by was 'she's tiny, I guess.' It seems women's fashion isn't Agent Leonhart's forte."

"Whatever. Can we get on with it?"

"You're in charge, Leonhart. Do that Fed thing - scratch that - don't do the 'Fed thing,' do the 'right thing.' It's easier not to fuck it up the first time."

"I don't know what you expect." The agent moved away from the wall. "It's a waiting game. I'm going to grab some sleep. I also want to have Heartilly start looking at pictures - it may take me a day or two to get the information I'm looking for."

Seifer didn't like leaving Rinoa with Chicken-Wuss any more than she did. Still, he had to trust Leonhart's judgment. "Can you hold down the fort better than you call plays?"

"Let it go. You lost."

Seifer snorted in disgust. "Your version Hell, not mine."

"Zell."

"Close enough. Tomato, To-mot-o. Hell, Zell…"

"Stop it. This ends - _now_."

Rinoa turned to look at Squall as he walked over. There was something in his voice that demanded attention, demanded respect. While it was obvious he was talking to Agent Dincht and Detective Almasy, even she wanted to cower at his tone.

He'd walked to the end of the counter, standing between them. "We start over. No hostility. No anger. No quick-tempered anger. The four of us are going to have to work together."

"And trust one another." Seifer narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, _I_ said it, going to make something of it?"

"No, we're not," Squall answered for all of them.

"I'm in." Zell then extended his hand. "Truce?"

"Are you kidding?" Seifer rolled his eyes, but no matter how trivial, it was a gesture of goodwill. This was about protecting Rinoa. "Fine. Fine. I'm in too."

"Me too," Rinoa said, tossing the pinecone back into the bowl. "Okay, I sorta have to be in either way, but I'm all for the sentiment here."

"Then it's settled. We establish a rotation, we trust no one outside this room and, until Miss Heartilly is no longer in danger, we work together – as a team."


End file.
